Falling In
by Gothic-Girl82
Summary: Hermione eyed the diaries in her hands: Years of guessing and second guessing Severus’ every action, of reacting to things she thought he felt rather than things she knew he felt these books could change everything.
1. The Diaries

Nothing you recognise in this story is mine, it all belongs to JKR and various other people who still most definitely aren't me. No lawsuits.

xxx

_I realise this is one man's sin_

_But I can't deny that you're pulling me in_

_You found a way to get inside my head_

_And yes, I'm gonna know better than to sleep with you_

_But at the same time I've got this need to feel you_

_Let me put my hands all over you_

_I feel I'm falling in…_

_-Falling In by Tapping The Vein_

xxx

As Hermione lugged her shopping bag up the long corridor to her hotel room, she thanked God for whichever Muggle had invented lifts. She was booked into the honeymoon suite on the top floor of the hotel and she doubted very much that she would have survived past the sixth floor if she'd had to make it on foot. Harry would have probably found her decomposing body in one of the stairwells days later, heaving shopping bags still clutched to her chest. Having a baby had definitely made her unfit, she decided.

She put her bags carefully down by her feet, trying not to dislodge anything as she found her key and slid it into the Muggle lock of the hotel room door. Before she had managed to turn the key her skin was prickling and all her senses were alert. Her wards were down; she couldn't feel the soft hum of them against her skin anymore, and the light that she clearly remembered switching off on her way out of the room earlier was now clearly shining out from underneath the door.

As much as Hermione claimed to be out of practice and out of shape, her body adopted her natural defensive stance automatically, betraying the years of training with a teacher who demanded perfection from her. The physical and mental exhaustion she had been feeling earlier had completely disappeared as she readied herself for a fight.

Her wand clasped tightly in her hand, she wondered for a moment if it would be wise to get someone to back her up before she attempted to take on whoever was in her room. The person or persons who had broken through her wards would have to be powerful and Hermione was all too aware that there were still a handful of renegade Death Eaters on the loose who would love to have the famous Hermione Granger at their mercy. What better revenge than to kidnap or kill her the night before her wedding to The Boy Who Lived To Ruin Their Lives?

Impatience won out, along with the need for solitude that had made her refuse Ginny's offer of company at the hotel in the first place. If she sent for Harry, Remus or Ron she would end up stuck with them for the rest of the night. She knew she could handle whatever was on the other side of the door, and if she couldn't she could Apparate to The Burrow in seconds and find someone who could.

Hermione silently spelled a clear patch in the door to check for any obvious dangers before turning the key and pushing the door slowly open. She entered the room, her wand out before her and her back against the wall so she didn't need to worry about anyone sneaking up on her from behind.

When she spotted the lump in her bed she felt incredibly foolish – fighting in a war had made her paranoid and she suddenly felt some sympathy for Alastor Moody. She was incredibly grateful that whoever was in her bed hadn't been there to witness her very Mission Impossible style entry into the room; if it was Harry waiting for her he'd never have let her live it down. She summoned her shopping bags into the room and silently shut the door with her wand.

As unlikely as it was that a Death Eater would come into her hotel room, get into her bed and lie in wait for her there, Hermione still approached the bed carefully. Hope rose in her chest for a moment before common sense squashed it down firmly – no amount of hopefulness could possibly make her think that Severus was that very small shape in the bed and it was a little unlikely that his feet has suddenly shrunk several sizes and he had developed a taste for pink sandals in her absence.

Relief combined with fury at having been made to panic when she had already been having the day from hell before all this had happened. She waved her wand at the covers on the bed and they folded neatly back to reveal the girl lying beneath. Hermione glowered and marched over, shaking her friend's shoulder with a little more vigour than was strictly necessary.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at? You couldn't have let me know you were coming? Texted? Sent your Patronus? You could have been unconscious for a week if I hadn't recognised your latest impulse buy peeking out from under the sheets." Hermione reached down to shake the girl again. "Ginny!"

Ginny hadn't moved a muscle through Hermione's entire rant despite the older girls none too gentle attempts to wake her up, and the sharp edge to her voice that would have sent Harry and Ron scurrying from the room if they had been there.

"What's wrong?" Hermione tried again, deliberately gentling her actions and the tone of her voice. "Is it Harry? Ron?"

A silent _Ennervate_ didn't move her so Hermione leaned closer to look at Ginny's pale, freckled face. Fairly fresh tear tracks streaked her face and after a moment of watching her face closely Hermione knew that the red-head was completely awake.

"You're here to tell me you can't be my bridesmaid because you and Harry are running away together and will be on your way to my honeymoon instead?" Hermione guessed jokingly, keeping her tone light. "Molly won't babysit Nicole for us? Harry's got cold feet? Ron won't be best man? You didn't manage to get Draco as your rather dubious date for tomorrow? The world is ending again? Voldemort is back? You're here to tell me that you faked my Seventh Year exam results and I actually failed all my N.E.W.T.'s?"

After a few seconds of waiting for a response, Hermione sighed impatiently – Ginny had been weird with her for a couple of days now and she needed it resolved before she went away. If it wasn't sorted out she knew Ginny well enough to know that she'd stew over it for the entire two weeks she was away with Harry, only to explode the minute they arrived home. She cast her eyes around the room hoping for some hit of inspiration. She was terrible at dealing with people who sulked, especially when Ginny obviously wanted to talk to her. She wouldn't have been there in the first place if she didn't.

"I must say I'm impressed you managed to break through my wards on the door so quickly," Hermione said, kicking her trainers off and padding over to the kettle in her socks. She put it on to boil, ripped open two of the complimentary tea bags and glanced back at Ginny.

_No. No way. _

Tea bags still clutched in her hand, Hermione walked slowly over to the other side of the bed and tapped her wand on the small, closed, wooden trunk that was sitting there. It sprung open, the painstakingly applied wards obviously already long gone.

_No. _There was no possible way that Ginny could have got into that trunk or even have had it in her possession in the first place – it was meant to be safe and sound at Hogwarts, far away from this London hotel and most definitely far away from Ginny.

Hermione dropped to her knees next to the trunk, suddenly feeling too weak to stand. She buried her head in her hands and took a handful of deep breaths to try to clear her head. _There is an explanation for this – Ginny couldn't possibly have found out, not after all this time. It isn't possible._

Severus couldn't have, _wouldn't have_ betrayed her like that. The Diaries had been a goodbye and if he had wanted to return them there would be no way Archimedes would have left the parcel with anyone but her; that owl was more paranoid than his owner was and that paranoia would have meant that Severus would have warded that trunk at least as well as she had when she had sent it to him. There was no way he would have wanted any of the details inside those diaries known to anyone else. None of it made sense.

Hermione lifted her head, barely aware of the sound of the kettle fiercely coming to a boil. She froze; Ginny was sitting up in bed, completely still and completely silent. Her eyes were trained on Hermione and they were burning with a fury that Hermione hadn't seen since the day she witnessed the young, red-headed witch in battle by her side. Only at that time, Hermione had been completely sure that Ginny was firmly on her side and not about to curse her into next week. Her hand reached automatically for her briefly forgotten wand, where it lay next to her trunk.

"Don't make me _Stupefy_ you," Hermione warned gently, knowing that although they were somewhat evenly matched, duelling with Severus for years had given her an edge over the other witch. "If you want to talk, you're going to have to part with your wand, Ginny."

"What?" Ginny spoke through clenched teeth. "_You_ don't trust _me_?"

"This isn't about you," Hermione warned, still speaking softly as if dealing with a wounded animal. She rose smoothly to her feet and trained her wand on the witch, whose knuckles were standing out white around her own wand.

"It never is, is it?" Ginny growled, still not moving from the bed she was sitting stiffly on top of.

"Give me your wand and we can talk," Hermione repeated. "I just want to talk to you - you can't think I want to hurt or _Obliviate_ you?" _Tempting as it is…_

Ginny's bottom lip trembled which inexplicably reassured Hermione.

"It took Bill nearly two days to get into that box," she said, her voice trembling too. "When I first saw what was in it I laughed, thinking that only you would ward a box of useless books so tightly. I was so relieved that I very nearly didn't open them." A tear ran down Ginny's cheek and she brushed it away angrily with the back of her hand. "You know, I thought you were under the _Imperius Curse_?"

_Imperius Curse? _What on earth was she talking about? Had all Molly's hinting about Ginny settling down and having babies finally driven her to insanity?

"Why on earth would you think that?" Hermione asked. She toyed with the idea of using an _Expelliarmus_ to get the wand out of Ginny's hand so she could finally lower her guard, but Hermione wasn't sure she was capable of doing it gently enough not to tumble Ginny off the bed, and she didn't think that hurting the girl was the right way to handle the situation, tempting as it was.

"You've been acting like an Inferius for weeks!"

Fury, vexation and accusations Hermione could handle – it was Ginny's cold anger that had scared her and that was quickly coming away to reveal a Ginny Hermione had seen before. She opened her mouth to give Ginny a proper explanation of what an Inferius would have really acted like and then snapped her mouth shut. Being pedantic probably wouldn't help – maybe she really had been spending too much time with Severus.

"The other day in that bridal shop, anyone else would have showed at least some emotion trying on that beautiful dress," Ginny continued, waving her arms expressively in exasperation, making Hermione eye her wand warily. "It was the perfect dress and all you could do was smile faintly and then take it off!"

It had been the perfect dress and Hermione had shown as much emotion as she could cope with at the time. Picturing herself walking down the aisle of a beautiful, small church in the country to find Severus standing there, his eyes shining and his lips curling upwards when he saw how beautiful she looked hadn't done wonders for her mood that day.

"You barely spoke when we had your hen night – those handcuffs didn't even get a blush out of you."

Well they wouldn't – Hermione had a pair much like them at home. A hysterical giggle was fighting to the surface and she was beginning to hyperventilate in her effort to keep it down. She had an entire matching set of toys actually, safely, or apparently not so safely warded in a slightly larger trunk in her and Harry's flat that almost exactly matched the trunk next to her hotel bed right now. She was definitely going to have to work on some stronger wards or Harry would get the shock of his life one day.

_Or possibly today,_ Hermione thought to herself, cringing.

"You've been disappearing at all hours – did you think I wouldn't notice, sharing my room with you for the last few weeks?" Ginny asked, now sounding more desolate than furious. Hermione took a tentative step towards the bed.

"Why didn't you just ask me what was wrong instead of having bloody Curse Breakers open my post?" Suddenly all of Bill's guilty looks over the past few days made perfect sense. "Does Bill know what's in those diaries?"

"No." Ginny shook her head, wiping her nose with a scrunched up and not very white looking tissue. "He just knows I was worried about you – I made him do it, Hermione. Don't be mad at him over all this, he kept telling me I shouldn't pry into your business. He reckoned you were in the middle of some research again and pointed out that you always do the mad Professor thing. But this was a bit different from you putting salt in your tea or calling Ron Harry."

"It might have been an idea to listen to him," Hermione snapped, sitting on the end of the bed and lowering her wand. Let Ginny curse her if she wanted – she was suddenly past caring. "You could see they were diaries – not all diaries are possessed by Voldemort, you know."

Ginny's face paled and Hermione immediately felt guilty. Two days ago they had been best friends, now Ginny couldn't look at her, her eyes trained on the hideous, garishly patterned hotel bedspread instead.

"Did… was there a letter?" Hermione asked tentatively, wondering if Ginny would explode again at the sign that Hermione cared.

"No." Ginny moved up the bed to lean against the headboard and pull her feet under her body. She placed her wand on the bed. "How could you Hermione? All this time? Lying to us all? Lying to Harry!"

"You read the diaries – you should know the answer to that," Hermione answered softly. "Passion? Loneliness? Pain? Addiction? Love?"

She toed the box with her bare foot, wondering how such a well kept secret could be found out a week after it had all finally finished for good. Years of lies, sneaking about, wondering and worrying who might find out, and now it had come out. She was supposed to be getting married in the morning – what was going to happen now?

"Have you told Harry?"

"I haven't been anywhere else yet. I flicked through the diaries, not expecting anything too sinister, and when I realised what they were I came here to confront you."

"I was shopping," Hermione felt compelled to explain, hating the guilt that was twisting her stomach into knots. "Last minute holiday things. My day of peace was driving me mad."

"With so much on your conscience, I'm not surprised," Ginny said sharply, then took a deep breath and visibly forced herself to calm down. "Harry's with Nicole – they've both gone shopping themselves. He wanted to get a surprise for you for your honeymoon."

"Not more handcuffs I hope?"

Hermione cringed at the scornful look Ginny was directing at her and she slid from the bed onto the thickly carpeted floor. She leaned over the box to rake through it, on the off chance that Severus had enclosed a note or message of some sort, although she had to admit to herself that Severus sending her diaries back said enough all by itself. Apparently he hadn't wanted to keep memories of their time together, although at least there was a chance he might have read them if they had only been sent back two days earlier – it had been exactly a week since she had shrank the trunk herself and sent it to him by his own Owl.

There was nothing but the diaries in there. Severus had read her innermost thoughts and feelings, from the beginning of their relationship to the very end, and he hadn't thought it worth comment. Her hands ran over the familiar leather-bound covers as she pushed them back into a straight row in the trunk and fought the tears that she had been holding back all week. Her brow suddenly furrowed as she tried to focus on the books in the dim light inside the deep trunk and she brought her wand up and moved the lighted end closer to the book covers.

"These aren't mine." Her suddenly numb fingers dropped the wand they were grasping and the _Lumos_ spell faded as it rolled unnoticed under the bed. Hermione pulled the entire pile of books from the trunk and looked at their spines. Black instead of red, and with the words 'Diary of Severus Snape,' written on each spine, these were most definitely not the diaries she had placed so carefully in that trunk a week ago.

"I didn't say they were yours," Ginny pointed out, scrunching her nose up and looking suddenly confused.

"Ginny, I sent him _my_ diaries, not these. These are…" _His. _Severus' diaries lay in her hands and all she could do was stare at them as if they were something Hagrid had just rescued from the Forbidden Forest and asked her to take care of.

"Why would you send him your diaries?" Ginny asked curiously.

"It was over," Hermione murmured absently, reading over what years were printed on the spines of the diaries. "I just wanted him to have something to remember it all by – to prove it truly was real and that I really did care."

"So this is something for you to remember it all by," Ginny pointed out. "Which you don't need if you're going to go through with marrying Harry. Burn them or something! Send them back, Hermione!"

Hermione looked up, her heart beating wildly in her chest and making her feel a little sick. She was used to the feeling – it started whenever she saw Severus or even thought of him these days. "It's all over with both of them Ginny – when Harry finds out he's not going to go through with the wedding."

"He doesn't have to find out. Convince me you're over Snape; that he used _Imperio_ on you, or it was a moment of madness."

"A moment?" Hermione raised her eyebrow, unconsciously mimicking her former Potions Master perfectly. How hadn't Ginny seen it before?

"A very long moment stretching into years," Ginny corrected, throwing her hands up. "I'm trying to help you here, Hermione – you can't possibly want to be with Snape. So I was angry, I felt betrayed for myself and everyone else involved, but this is fixable. Don't go back to Snape."

"I couldn't be with Severus either," Hermione answered distractedly, oblivious to her friends panic. She ran her fingers over the silver lettering on one of the diaries. Minerva was incredibly unimaginative in her gift giving, Hermione decided absently. She had received the first of her own diaries from the Transfigurations Professor as a 'Congratulations' present when she had got the Head Girls badge in her Seventh Year. These were the exact same diaries, if in a less Gryffindor colour.

"I told you, it's finished," Hermione added, her mouth forcing the words out before her brain and heart could object.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you, Hermione," Ginny said. "But you've been lying to me for years."

"I'm sorry Ginny," Hermione said, finally looking up at her friend. "At first there was nothing to tell, and you and I weren't as close then. And then when there was something to tell, there was so much to lose if people found out."

"Harry, you mean," Ginny interrupted, scornfully. "You'd have lost Harry."

"Severus would have lost his job," Hermione explained. "He'd have been found out as a spy and lost his life! I'm Muggle-Born and Harry's best friend, no true Death Eater would have touched me unless it was to take me to Voldemort. You don't know how much I needed to talk to someone about it all, it's why my own diaries became my best friends. I had so much to hide, and I couldn't talk to _anyone._"

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I am over Severus Snape," she told Ginny, impressed at how steady her own voice sounded, when she could barely breathe. Or was she hyperventilating? She couldn't tell and she needed to be alone before she let all these confused emotions come to the surface for Ginny to see. "Been there, done that, got the mental scarring. It is over."

"Then we'll forget all this and start over." Ginny pointed her wand at the diaries in Hermione's hand. "Let's get rid of those and we'll go and get drunk, and you can tell me what an idiot you've been."

Hermione eyed the diaries in her hands and shook her head, fighting the urge to dive on top of them to protect them. Years of guessing and second guessing Severus' every action, of reacting to things she thought he felt rather than things she knew he felt – these books could change everything. Her fingers were already caressing the soft leather of the covers. She had to know.

"I have to read these. I'll answer anything you like, come clean to Harry, or whatever you want, but I can't do anything until I've read these."

"You know what happened Hermione, you were there too," Ginny protested watching as her friends eyes shone with a combination of terror and hope. She wished she could go back a few hours in time and destroy the entire trunk before Bill had ever managed to open it, but Hermione was the only person she knew who was still illegally in possession of a Time-Turner after they had all been confiscated and locked away in a secret location in the year after the war.

Ginny had been shocked, furious and had felt utterly betrayed, but that was nothing compared to how Harry would feel if Hermione didn't turn up at the Church in the morning. She couldn't let Hermione's ridiculous crush ruin everything they had worked so hard for. Ginny had given up so much and she would be damned if it was all for nothing. Hermione would get over this.

"Either stay here with me, Gin, or leave me until morning. The wedding isn't until eleven, we'll get a chance to talk so you can decide what you're going to do with all this."

"I'm not leaving you alone to make the biggest mistake of your life," Ginny muttered, eyeing the diaries darkly, as if Hermione were holding a box of Voldemort's own toenail clippings.

"Then get comfy," Hermione replied, choosing to ignore Ginny's tone. She placed all but the first diary on the bedside and climbed into the bed next to Ginny. She pulled the covers over her jean clad legs and rested the diary on her lap.

"Right," she said, determinedly.

After a few moments of complete silence, except from the faint sound of traffic that came through the hotel window, Ginny turned to look quizzically at Hermione. She hadn't moved for a full minute.

"I can't do this," Hermione whispered. "I can't."

"You've done worse," Ginny observed dryly, pushing the book open on Hermione's lap and leaning her chin on her shoulder. They would read, Hermione would put the past behind her, and Ginny would get her to the Church in the morning if she had to drag her there.

xxx

Author's notes: This story holds true to canon until HBP, which I have chosen to pretend never happened for this story.

Thank you to both my betas **Twice1203** and **DeathStarring** for everything – you're both amazing, and any errors found in my story are entirely my own fault.


	2. Six Years in Azkaban

Nothing you recognise in this story is mine; it all belongs to JKR and various other people who still most definitely aren't me. No lawsuits.

_xxx_

_Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow  
No tomorrow, no tomorrow  
And I find it kind of funny  
I find it kind of sad  
The dreams in which I'm dying  
Are the best I've ever had_

_Mad World by Tears for Fears  
_

_xxx_

**Diary of Severus Snape, 1997-1998**

Monday, September 1st 1997

Another Sorting Ceremony, another bunch of dunderheads to attempt to educate and yet another year that I have managed to survive relatively unscathed. For years it gave me great pleasure that I managed to endure living on the knife-edge working as both Death Eater and spy. I used to see every passing summer as an occasion to be marked – my cunning had got me through yet another year. Now I see the end of every summer as the start of yet another year of torment, of living inside myself in my very own self-made prison; a prison that, if infiltrated, will result in my incredibly painful demise. If I survive this year it will be a miracle and it should terrify me that that thought gives me comfort.

I never expected to be able to redeem myself for the crimes I have committed in my past, nor the ones that I commit in the present to keep my cover hiding among a group of true Death Eaters. Redemption was not what I was looking for when I put myself at the mercy of Albus Dumbledore that Halloween night all those years ago; I wanted punishing, breaking and even killing for the crimes I had committed in the pursuit of power and recognition, which I no longer wanted or cared about.

Instead of carting me off to Azkaban or cursing me where I stood, which is what I had fully expected when I had decided in my grief and guilt to come to him that night, I was given a task with a very clear purpose. Only the destruction of the Dark Lord will set me free and it will signal the time when I can finally end my life. I have lived too many years, and more than I ever deserved to.

However, until the time that the Dark Lord is safely six hundred feet under, I have a life that I must lead. Along with the deception and intrigue of part of my life, it is necessary that the more mundane part of my life go on. I have yet another group of students to attempt to teach, and although this is a decidedly less deadly part of my life (barring those classes where Neville Longbottom is present), it is still a part that needs constant attention and consideration.

This year's group of first year Slytherins are exactly what I had expected and I am already preparing for trouble. The patented first year speech I gave them won't have made a difference and the subtle speech I gave the Seventh Years will only make a difference if they want it to, and few of them do. The children who do want a way out of this hell are the ones who _have_ no way out, mostly due to the pressure of their parents and the other people around them, and when fighting for their lives, soldiers that are forced to fight are just as deadly as those who choose to.

Over cups of Minerva's nauseatingly weak tea, she complains to me every year that her Gryffindors are the most difficult to take care of out of the four houses. They are headstrong, impulsive and disregard the rules at whim. She claims to want to borrow a certain magical appendage from Mad Eye Moody to keep them all in line, and assures me that she has by far the most gruelling job.

While I have to admit that I wouldn't want to be charged with the safety of one solitary Gryffindor, let alone a whole House full of them, it is only because I'd likely curse half of them into submission and probably murder the other half in a fit of temper. I have no patience for people who don't think and Gryffindors in general are, as Minerva says, impulsive and rash. And to add to that, they are wholly irritating. Minerva, being annoyingly Gryffindor herself and being an astoundingly powerful witch, could handle them all with her hands tied behind her back and she knows it.

Ravenclaws as a group are intelligent and shrewd, but despite their brains they lack the ambition to give Filius even one troubled nights sleep. The Hufflepuffs start off withdrawn, scared and lost, but direct mothering from Pomona works every time, with a support network quickly assembled for them.

My students are just as scared, withdrawn and lost, but how do you comfort them when they spurn your efforts unless they are perfectly disguised? They hide their insecurities and pain under a struggle for power which started long before the Sorting Hat sent them to Salazar's table.

Their drive – a need above all others to prove themselves, a need to shine; a need that nearly always comes from emotional scarring. Power in anyone's hands is a dangerous thing but when the people searching for power are people who are broken, therein lies the danger. I have seven years to clandestinely steer their ambition in the right direction and prevent them from making my mistakes over and over again.

If you add to that the fact that Seventh Year students from every house are going to come to me at some point this year to hint to me about joining the Dark Lord, then I'd say the rest of the staff have it easy. Sherbet Lemons do not make up for it all quite as well as a very significant raise would, and I am going to be sure to point this fact out to Albus next time he offers me yet another of his infernal sweets this year. I won't get the raise, but at least he may stop offering me those god awful confections.

It is the first day of term and already I am being tormented by the Gryffindors that Minerva insists so fervently that, against all odds, she has well in hand. A large part of my summer was spent at Grimmauld Place, which is in general a hellish enough experience on its own. This summer I had the added joy of having the ever grating presence of two out of three of the Unspeakable Trio.

Potter and Weasley spent their days at that house attempting to half-arsedly spy on me, only succeeding in annoying me to the point where I could have gladly disobeyed Albus' orders and cursed them both until they were unrecognisable as the humans that the Headmaster frequently assures me they are. A meagre challenge admittedly, but it is still an indescribably happy thought and is even now bringing a satisfied smirk to my face.

The small fact that the brains of the trio was missing for the entire summer was not a fact that I dwelt on, but if I had I am certain I would have found myself wholly grateful for the blessing. But now, three hours into term, she is making up for her brief absence by turning up at my Office door and handing in long rolls of parchment, which have nothing to do with the homework the Seventh Years have been set, and everything to do with the fact that the girl cannot just _be_.

While people who want to learn are rare and to be valued, people who constantly think they know better are to be squashed. For years I have had that girl's arm waving in the air, her eager face practically puce as she tried desperately to stop the answer from falling from her lips before she was called upon. Sometime in her fifth year this all stopped and she became almost bearable to have in my class; she was quiet, competent in her brewing and she completed her tasks without question. It seems that I am now being punished for letting myself be lulled into a false sense of security.

Miss Granger has a project that she would like me to look over. A project, she tells me, which the Headmaster had already cleared and has given her full permission to work on it in my private laboratory, using any of the school supplies she might need. She tried and failed not to look smug as she informed me of all this from the doorway of my office.

It takes me about thirty seconds to wipe the smug half smile from her face.

"This project is not viable," I tell her as I flick quickly through her extensive notes and almost immediately see what potion it is that she plans to create. Is she delusional or just so conceited that she thinks she is actually this good?

Her face falls. "Not viable?"

"Do you really think that if this were even remotely possible that I wouldn't already have created it myself? That hundreds of other Wizards, Witches and Aurors haven't tried to accomplish the exact same thing year after year?"

The apprehensive expression on her face relaxes and she dares to smile at me.

"Oh, that," she says offhandedly, clearly relieved. "I know – I've been researching for over six months now and Professor Dumbledore agrees with my findings. I wrote to…"

"But a Potions Master's word that it won't work isn't enough for you?" I interrupt, furious at her for being so inexcusably superior. I loom over her, expecting her to flinch back, hopefully far enough back so that she is out of my office that I can slam the door behind her.

"If you read my theories, Sir," Miss Granger said calmly, meeting my eyes steadily in a way I don't recall any other student ever having dared. "_All_ of my theories, and you still think in your professional opinion that I am wasting my time and the schools ingredients, then I will abandon the project."

"That, Miss Granger," I murmur, taking hold of the edge of the door in my hand. "I will hold you to."

When I slam the door behind her, all thoughts of a quiet and relaxing evening before classes start the next day are damned. I have to read her incredibly long supposition so I can find the gaping flaws in it and keep the infuriating girl out of my private rooms and my carefully measured and stocked stores.

It takes me two whole hours to see the flaw in my plan – there isn't one in hers. She has got around the purity factor that everyone else stumbles on by deliberating that modified human bodily fluids could be used instead of the Unicorn Blood that everyone else wishes to use, but can't due to the obvious drawbacks. Forty-seven inches of inexplicably concise (given the length) arguments make me suddenly feel very stupid. She could be right – a student who has yet to even take her N.E.W.T.s has stumbled upon something that I and every other Potions Master who attempted to brew this potion failed to see.

For a moment I contemplate drowning myself in the lake.

It takes a further two hours for me to take each suggested replacement for the Unicorns blood in my mind and subject it to rigorous mental testing. From what I can see without actively working on this project myself, the ingredients she wants to try are still not perfect. It has a chance of working, but less so than I had first thought.

Curiously I am deflated. I had hoped to dash the child's hopes and send her sulking to Potter and Weasley, put firmly in her place once more, never again to darken my door, but her theories had been sound and obviously painstakingly well thought out. I am suddenly reluctant to tell her of the imperfections I see.

_xxx_

**Diary of Severus Snape, 1997-1998**

Tuesday, September 2nd 1997

Any reluctance I had to squash Miss Granger was driven away when she had the cheek to _beam_ at me this morning. She evidently thought she was going to force me to eat my words and perhaps grovel at her Gryffindor feet. All lesson I had the urge to wipe the smile off her face as she and Potter exchanged glances until I had the urge to deposit them both, head first, into the nearest steaming cauldron. It would have been Granger's own fault – it was her project that had kept me up until five o'clock in the morning.

"Remain after class, Miss Granger," I instruct sharply, leaving her happily and obliviously clearing her unused ingredients away and bottling her potion as the bell tolls to signal the end of class.

She heaves her heavy book bag onto her shoulder, making me wonder why she hasn't the sense to use a levitation charm to make the load lighter on her shoulders. Apparently intelligence comes in many forms and to possess one kind doesn't automatically mean you possess them all.

She looks at me expectantly.

"You may proceed with the experiment," I inform her, watching the smile spread over her face. Out of the corner of my eye I see Potter lurking in the corridor just outside the door to my classroom. I point my wand in his direction making the door slam loudly. The noise echoes around the classroom as the door narrowly misses smacking Potter in the face.

"Thank you, Sir," she says, beaming with unconcealed joy which just serves to irritate me further. "I was so worried – I mean Professor Dumbledore isn't a Potions Master, and he's always so positive about everything. I…"

"Don't thank me," I interrupt her mid-prattle, before she can get into her stride. "The ingredients you have specified in your plan are admittedly better than I would have hoped for from a student." I fail to add that they are also better than I had managed to come up with myself. "But each and every one of the ingredients have possibly critical flaws – it is very likely that this entire project may be a complete waste of your time and the schools valuable resources."

I had expected dejection, arguments, even tears. What I didn't expect was a slow nod and a small smile.

"Would you have the time to talk me through the errors you've found?" she asks, her voice soft as if she's expecting me to take house points and throw her out, which, come to think of it, is probably exactly what she's expecting.

"I will see."

She smiles yet again. She knows I'll do it and before I can take the half hearted concurrence back, she turns on her heel, casting a quick levitation charm over her shoulder, making her bag suddenly appear as light as a feather and she walks serenely to the door.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," she says. She pulls the heavy door open and links arms with Potter, who is still waiting outside. They continue up the stairs and out of sight.

I start to relax – I have a free period and I am planning on catching up on my lost sleep before facing the next class of the day, which is a hellish mix of Slytherin/Gryffindor second years.

"Sir?"

I look up from my desk to see a Seventh Year Hufflepuff that I am absolutely sure left my classes at the end of her fifth year and I barely remember catching sight of her since.

"Yes…" I rack my brain for her name. "Miss Jones. What is it?"

"I know you, erm… I mean, I want to… everyone says you're a…"

"Out with it girl before I die of old age," I snap, irritated and thinking longingly of my soft bed and its cool sheets.

"I want to join you," she says quickly, holding her breath the second the words are out.

"Join me?"

"No, not y-you. The D-death Eaters," she stammers.

I sigh. And so it begins.

_xxx_

**Draycott Hotel, London**

"Megan Jones?" Ginny murmured, wide-eyed. "But she fought _against_ the Death Eaters. I saw her fighting along with Susan Bones, she and Susan worked together to stun loads of them. They really made a difference until Susan got hit with that _Avada_."

"She just wanted recognition," Hermione said softly. "Severus scared the life out of her with Death Eater talk and then made sure Susan was there to steer her on the right path after. She was one of the easy ones."

"He talked to you about it?" Ginny screwed up her nose and Hermione fought the urge to explain to her that yes, she could admit that Severus wasn't her biggest fan at first, but things changed.

"Eventually, he talked to me about a lot of things," Hermione said. "It took a while, but I doubt he's ever met anyone quite as persistent as me."

"No, I very much doubt he has," Ginny muttered under her breath, smiling innocently when Hermione directed a distracted glare in her direction.

"Love you too, Gin," Hermione murmured. "Now stop distracting me."

_xxx_

**Diary of Severus Snape, 1997-1998**

Saturday, October 4th 1997

Just over a month into term and I am already close to regaining my personal space. Miss Granger, with her theory already worked out and her plans already drawn up, has come to the conclusion in record time that none of her proposed ingredients are working, or will ever work.

A month doesn't seem like a long time – in my thirty-seven years on this planet, the longest month I have ever had was spent locked in Lucius Malfoy's dungeons. Even at an incredibly young age, our power struggles were evident. I graduated from Hogwarts without bowing to the pressure to join his _Master_ and my talent in the field of Potions and my knowledge of the Dark Arts quickly turned me from the prize he wanted to take to the Dark Lord to his immediate rival, despite the six years he had on me which should have made him wiser and much more confident.

During the month I spent as Lucius' _guest_, I was tortured both physically and mentally at Lucius' whim. I was raped, whipped, cursed and ridiculed, then left alone in the darkness for days at a time. The noises around me terrified me even as the rational part of my mind that was left told me that the rats were harmless if left alone, and that the screams echoing around my cell were coming from people who wouldn't and couldn't hurt me – they were just as terrified as I.

I had thought that I would die in that cold, dark room. I imagined my mother sobbing over my death and my father feeling guilty for all the beatings and all the times he has broken me with words alone. I imagined my funeral, attended by the handful of people who almost counted as my friends; and when I was at my lowest, I imagined Lily there, tears pouring down her pale cheeks as she mourned my passing. Potter, of course, was nowhere to be seen, having very possibly run off to start a loving and romantic relationship with Black.

When I was released by a House Elf I was filthy, bleeding and broken. I stumbled and crawled my way from the grounds of Malfoy Manor, trying to find somewhere, _anywhere_ I could feel safe. I had won; I had survived Lucius' punishment for not falling at his feet and joining the people who promised me power and recognition. I was finally free and I felt more alive than I ever had before. I had plans, I was going to become a Potions Master and become powerful in my own right. I would show everyone who doubted and ridiculed me that I was better than them.

When I finally returned home, barely conscious, to find the rotting corpse of my mother, a Muggle kitchen knife still embedded in her chest, and my father drunk, triumphant and threatening to do the same to me, I performed my very first killing curse. Lucius Malfoy was waiting for me at his door with literal open arms.

A month and three days I had been in that godforsaken place; the darkest month and three days of my life. Hermione Granger has been using my private laboratory for a month and a day, yet somehow it seems longer than that entire month spent as Lucius' most valued Guest; considerably longer. I'm almost tempted to seek her out and inform her of this.

She comes in every evening at seven on the dot and works until midnight, which is when I habitually throw her out. She always has this dazed look in her eyes when I interrupt her, like I have just woken her up from an especially good dream and she's vaguely resentful about it.

One evening a week I have a reprieve, as on Saturdays she seems to give herself an evening off, which I am assuming is when she somehow crams an entire weeks worth of homework into her schedule. The problem is that I am so used to her being in the room that the one night I have without her grating presence, I am at a loss as to what to do with myself.

This Saturday I had decided to get thoroughly drunk as a premature celebration over getting my life back (to some extent at least – the ever darkening mark on my arm bears witness to the fact that my life is still not my own and may never be).

I am sitting back in my most comfortable chair, cool glass in my hand, my head resting against the cushions, when I hear a loud thump followed by some muttering. I sigh loudly and open the door to my chambers and stick my head out.

"Sodding thing! Change colour! What's wrong with you? You should work! Look! It says it here! You should be turning a nice pale lilac colour about now! Oh for Heaven sake!"

There is a hissing and spitting noise, followed by a yelp and a loud bang.

"Fuck."

"I'll second that," I comment dryly from the doorway. The room is covered in a bright green substance that reminds me quite painfully of the time I was forced to fetch Albus from Minerva's quarters one Saturday night. No man can carry off lime-green underwear, even the Greatest Wizard of All Time himself.

Miss Granger cringed and closed her eyes, opened them again and looked around the room hopefully, apparently hoping that by some miracle I, and the explosion of slime around her would have magically disappeared.

"The blood didn't work then?" I observe, trying not to sound as amused as I obviously am, although why I am amused when it's my lab she has bathed in mucus is beyond me.

She gives me a look which says plainly,_ 'You bastard.'_

I smile back at her. I have discovered over the past month that the quiet, studious, perfect Miss Granger has the most god-awful temper I have ever encountered, and I am acquainted with the Dark Lord.

"You would be bloody happy, you're getting your space back," she grumbles, getting to her feet, slipping and landing on her arse with an unpleasant squelching noise as she hits the floor. She opts to _Evanesco_ the entire room from where she is sitting on the floor. In an instant her clothes are no-longer slimy, but they are still very much green.

"Impressive," I comment dryly, leaning against the door, my arms folded. Her hair is green too, I notice. This is far better than sitting alone in my rooms, drinking. Miss Granger in a temper is almost as delightful as Minerva in one – sometimes Gryffindors unwittingly make for marvellous entertainment.

"The blood wasn't pure enough," I observe casually, looking over her now green notes. "Who's was it?"

"It was freshly taken from a virgin – it should have been fine," she mutters, trying to de-green her notes with every spell she can think of. She catches sight of herself in the unbreakable glass of one of the cupboard doors and goes still.

"Fuck," she says again, looking wide eyed at her reflection. Really, such language from the Head Girl…

"Five points from Gryffindor for inappropriate language," I say, highly amused with myself and showing it. "And another five for inappropriate dress and for trying to impersonate a Slytherin," I add as an afterthought.

This is the second time in the past month that I have seen her lose her carefully controlled temper and I have been trying to provoke her since that very first time I witnessed it. Irritant she may be, but she is spectacular when she is furious, and incredibly amusing when she is trying to reign it in.

"It's not my fault I'm currently green!" she exclaims furiously. "I knew I should have stayed in the common room tonight instead of coming down here."

"It's _entirely_ your own fault that you're green," I inform her. "And what are you doing here on a Saturday evening? What on earth would make the inflexible Hermione Granger break her schedule?"

She ignores me to cast an assortment of spells at the green-tinted room and at her own clothing. I take pity on her; I gather a handful of ingredients, find a desk that isn't green and start slicing. Well, it's not to my advantage to have a bright green room to work in once she has gone, is it?

"They're all up there playing juvenile games that involve removing each other's clothing and drinking vast amounts of doctored Butterbeer," she finally tells me, as she quickly realises what I'm brewing and starts helping me by taking half the ingredients to another only slightly green table.

I am tempted to use the information she has given me to go and cease the Gryffindor's fun before it gets out of hand and I am left to clean up their mess. Then I remember that I am off-duty this evening and it is Minerva who will be called to pull their heads from the toilets and shrink body parts to the correct size.

"Even Harry is joining in," she informs me irritably.

When will she and the Wizarding world in general stop thinking that Harry sodding Potter is any better than the rest of us? I have been made highly aware of the fact that Granger and Potter have a circumspect relationship blooming between them, as Minerva has informed us all that Potter has been sleeping in her quarters, and of course The Boy Who Lived To Annoy Me is not like the rest of the students, and is allowed to carry on with this on school grounds.

Minerva, closely backed by Albus, has decided that this liaison is good for the boy, no matter that Potter, at least, is not of age. Apparently, this will give him something to fight for in the coming confrontation with the Dark Lord, as if his immense ego isn't enough. How the Potter men manage to get women so much better than themselves is a mystery that even the Unspeakables would have trouble solving.

I am jolted into self awareness by the sudden thought that my subconscious seems to have the idea that Miss Granger is somehow in a higher class than the other students. I narrowly miss slicing my own finger and I swear under my breath. A desk away from me, Miss Granger looks up at me and blushes, quickly looking away. I'd be intrigued by what could have affected her so, if I wasn't trying to wrack my brains for when I had stopped thinking of Miss Granger as wholly insufferable.

"There's one last ingredient I haven't tried, sir," she says, nervously looking up at me again, making me scowl at her.

"Then try it," I advise shortly. What is wrong with the girl? She doesn't usually need baby-stepping through everything; in fact it had surprised me how independent she had been working on her project, only consulting me when she wanted permission to use the rarer of the ingredients in my stores.

"You don't have it in your stores," she points out softly, never pausing in her chopping.

"Then tell me what it is and I will order it," I snap again, annoyed by her being so tentative and indirect.

"First Blood."

My hands automatically stop chopping and I set down my knife for safety's sake.

"No."

"I know it's difficult to get," Miss Granger points out, stopping her slicing too. She pushes a lock of green hair behind her ear and slides off her stool to walk over to the desk I am still sitting at. "I've tried everything. I even resorted to asking Fred and George Weasley if they could get hold of it for me."

"It is illegal, Miss Granger," I point out needlessly. She surely knows this already.

"I know," she confirms. "But it's the purest and most powerful human fluid you can get. It's the only thing that could possibly work, as all the others failed."

"Then I wish you luck in finding it," I say.

I rise from my own stool and turn to leave. She can make her own cleaning potion to sort herself and the room out; suddenly I have had enough of her presence.

"I have tapped every resource I have," she says despairingly. "I thought you might have a few more resources open to you than I have."

"Being a Death Eater?" I snap in question, turning on her. I am well aware that she and her two comrades know what I am, and that apparently means I should risk spending six years in Azkaban for her ridiculous project that was doomed from the start.

"Being a Potions Master," she counters, not backing down. A month of being in my presence has made her even more immune than she seemed before.

"Yes. Being a Potions Master would mean that I would have unlimited access to illegal ingredients that warrant at least six years in Azkaban, Miss Granger. How could I have forgotten?"

A faint colouring of her cheeks tells me that I finally got past her carefully erected barriers. Maybe she isn't as unaffected by my presence as she pretends.

"Being a Potions Master means that you have the ability to collect it," she tells me quietly.

Yes, once, on the Dark Lords orders, I did indeed collect First Blood from a virgin girl. Fifteen, innocent, young and afraid, she was raped mercilessly by Lucius, and instead of saving her, or at the very least comforting her, I drew the First Blood from her, making her scream and beg for death.

I walk out of the room, the slamming of the door echoing around the halls of the dungeon I am forced to live in. I pick up the bottle of Firewhisky from where it lays discarded on the floor and I take a swig straight from the bottle before I have even sat down. When I have drunk enough, Oblivion will once again take me and I will be at peace for a few hours.

_xxx_

**Draycott Hotel, London**

"Not all of this seems relevant," Ginny commented, her nose wrinkling in distaste as her eyes scanned over a page which looked to her like it was a discussion the Professor had had with himself about some article printed in _Potions Today_.

Hermione looked up from the diary and sighed resignedly. She had a few hours to read through years' worth of Severus' thoughts, but the important part right now was finding out how he felt about her and she could always read the rest at her leisure later. She flicked through the pages, skimming them quickly.

"I kept out of his way for a while after that night," Hermione told her friend as she ran her finger over each of the pages as she quickly searched for any mention of her name. "I tried to forget about the potion, all those months of work, all those sleepless nights followed by days where I could barely manage to grunt at people over the breakfast table. I almost gave up completely."

"Good job you didn't. It definitely gave us the edge, you know."

Without looking up from Severus' diary, Hermione pointed her wand at the dresser and floated the room service menu into Ginny's hands.

"Here, pick something expensive and chocolatey for us both. Sod your diet Ginny – support me in my hour of need."

"It's going to take more than an hour to read these," Ginny pointed out, gesturing at the pile of diaries on the bedside, before getting back to scanning the menu for something suitably full of calories. "Death By Chocolate – that isn't literal, is it?"

"It's a Muggle dessert," Hermione told her. "And it's perfect. Sinfully bad for you."

"You'd think you'd have learned your lesson," Ginny commented dryly, looking at Hermione out of the corner of her eye. She threw the menu down and grabbed the phone from the bedside to pass it to her. "Order us some wine or something too?"

"Will alcohol stop the sarcastic commentary, or at least slow it down a little?"

"It depends how much wine you're planning on giving me," Ginny replied with a grin.

"Hello? This is Miss Granger in the Honeymoon suite," Hermione spoke into the phone. "I'd like to order two large portions of Death By Chocolate, hot, with cream, and three bottles of whatever your best medium white wine is, please."

"You really must be desperate to shut me up," Ginny muttered, re-arranging her pillows behind her to make herself more comfortable. "Or kill me."

The enigmatic smile on Hermione's face was one that she could only have learned from the Potions Master himself. Ginny sighed and leaned back against the pillows. Maybe this was going to be a little harder than she thought.

_xxx_

Author's Notes: If by a very slim chance you have stayed at _Draycott Hotel_ (in Chelsea, London), I am aware that it has nowhere near as many floors as stated in Chapter One. When I was searching for five star hotels that Hermione could be staying in, I fell for that one, partly because it has a really cosy looking library :oD

Thank you to everyone who took the time to review – feed me more!

A special thank you to both my betas, **Twice1203** and **DeathStarring**, for all their patience and help.


	3. Misery Loves Company

Nothing you recognise in this story is mine; it all belongs to JKR and various other people who still most definitely aren't me. No lawsuits.

_xxx_

_I hear a thunder in the distance  
See a vision of a cross  
I feel the pain that was given  
On that sad day of loss  
A lion roars in the darkness  
Only he holds the key  
A light to free me from my burden  
And grant me life eternally_

_  
My Own Prison by Creed_

_xxx_

**Diary of Severus Snape, 1997-1998**

Friday, October 31st 1997

Halloween – the night I have come to dread with every fibre of my being, and the only night I will tolerate the presence of Remus Lupin for more than a minute at a time. For the past year or so there has been an unspoken declaration of peace between us, after he imprudently sought me out on this same date of last year in an apparently not so misguided attempt at finding someone to get sozzled with.

After much insulting (mostly on my part, I have to admit) we drank until we both passed out on my living room carpet. I have had far less of an inclination to insult him ever since; mutual intoxication, it seems, is a bonding process. It also helped that half way into our night of alcohol poisoning, he told me the entire story of how he came to almost murder me at school. Despite the sting of Albus' blatant favouritism all those years ago, I have let go of my grudge against the werewolf.

Despite my newfound almost liking of Lupin, I am not a person who wants, or is in the position to have friends; I have ignored his presence for most of the year. Personally I see this as being incredibly generous – I am no longer making snide comments as he enters the room and I've stopped making him beg for his Wolfsbane Potion each month.

Even so, although this is the anniversary of his friends deaths and he sought me out on this same night last year (out of desperation, in my opinion); this Halloween I am only half expecting him to seek me out again. So I am mildly surprised when I hear the distinctively tentative knock on my door. A generously filled glass of Courvoisier Brandy already warming in my hand, I lazily point my wand at the door and let him in.

"Severus." He nods at me in greeting and sets a bottle of some dubious looking liquor on the coffee table.

I bow my head slightly to acknowledge his presence and pour him a drink from the incredibly expensive bottle of Muggle Brandy that is already open. Minerva bought it for me along with this very diary last Christmas and it far more palatable than I would have expected for something Minerva habitually drinks.

Lupin sinks into my sofa and gratefully takes the glass from me.

"So we're dispensing with the small talk and getting straight down to the heavy drinking?" he asks, sounding more tired than he looks, which with it being close to the Full Moon, is saying something. If I had time I would work on a better alternative for his Wolfsbane, one that leaves him feeling and looking slightly better than the walking dead.

"I think it's best," I inform him, before taking a long drink of the amber liquid in my glass.

He is apparently in agreement, because for the next hour we barely speak a word to one another, unless the words, 'More?' and 'Yes please,' count as conversation. It is depressing; we are together in our guilt and misery in a way we could never be in friendship. If I could dig myself out of the drunken depression I am in, I would spend some of the night trying to wind the werewolf up, it would at least make the night somewhat bearable.

"What're you writing?" he asks, looking over at me curiously.

_Nosy bastard._

"Fuck off, Lupin," I say, too drunk and depressed to think of a more inventive retaliation at that moment. I tuck the diary away down the side of my armchair, deciding to write in it with the aide of my Pensieve in the morning, hangover permitting. It's doubtful I could read my own script after writing while in this state anyway.

He shoots an amused look in my direction and I'm struck, not for the first time, with a small amount of horror that I have become Lupin's substitute for Black on these occasions. I know that on the one Halloween they had together before the half-wit got himself killed that he and the werewolf sat at home together, if you could call Grimmauld Place a home, getting very drunk and remembering their old friends. I know that he has started seeking me out in the same way and it is more than a little bit disturbing.

Now he and I are going to spend the rest of the night sitting alone together, ignoring one another. He will be remembering his friends and feeling guilty for not somehow being able to see into the future in order to rescue them all, the mongrel included; I will sit here remembering Lily and the fact that my quest for power and revenge is what ultimately put her in her grave. A woman so pure and beautiful, and the first person to truly see any good in me, and I am entirely responsible for her death.

Sometimes I wonder why I bother being conscious on this day at all. Albus has learned to stay away from me, so I am usually left alone for most of the evening at least. I should just dose both Lupin and I with dreamless sleep and save us both this misery, and the pretence of half-liking each other.

"Why do we do this?" I ask, the words coming out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Misery loves company?" Lupin suggests, swirling the liquor around his glass before downing it all. He is well on his way to oblivion already and I am jealous; too many nights of trying to drink my thoughts away have hardened my body against the alcohol I am currently attempting to drown myself in.

"No, _my_ misery loves solitude," I correct him. I wonder if he knows I was in love with Lily Evans, even after she left school and became Lily fucking Potter. As her greatest confidant throughout their childhood, it was likely she'd have told him the moment I had foolishly confessed to my infatuation of her. Maybe that's why he has started coming to me on this night, knowing that I am the only other person so deeply affected by her death.

_Does he know that I killed her?_ I didn't cast the spell or point the wand, but it was my information about the prophecy that took the Dark Lord to her. Does Lupin know?

"Yet here you are, sharing your exceptionally good brandy," he points out, bringing me out of my suffocating thoughts. He looks up to shoot me a half-smile, which I attempt to shoot down with my nastiest of glares.

"Why aren't you with Minerva, or Albus?" _Or someone who likes you?_ I finish off in my head.

He opens his mouth to explain, or possibly just to tell me to fuck off, which he does on occasion, once he's too drunk to think of any nicer, more Gryffindor retorts, and startling us both out of our drunken introspection there is a loud, almost annoyed sounding knock on my door.

Lupin looks at me, and I look blankly back. No one disturbs me on this night, unless they have a death wish. Maybe it's one of my Slytherins in an emergency, but as tonight is the night of the Halloween feast, I doubt any of them have yet to even finish watching whichever hideously awful and untalented _musicians_ Albus got for them this year.

"Expecting someone?"

I don't bother to reply to Lupin's question. I decide this time to get up and open the door myself; it wouldn't do for any of my students to see me associating freely with the werewolf – I'd never get them to listen to anything I said ever again.

The door has barely opened more than a crack before I am almost knocked off my feet as the door is shoved forcefully open from the other side. A vision in black, which I am assuming to be Miss Granger, tumbles in and lands at my feet in a heap. She has apparently been leaning against the door while she hammers on it, waiting for it to be opened.

"Miss Granger," I greet, almost cordially for me. What the hell is she doing here, and what the hell is she wearing? I doubt very much Minerva has seen her favourite student this evening, as the costume she is wearing is utterly indecent. Minerva's flannel, tartan knickers would most definitely be in a twist if she could see her darling Hermione Granger right now.

The girl in question winces as she gets unsteadily to her feet, which I notice are encased in heels that a Knockturn Alley whore would have trouble walking in. This is not the Miss Granger I know, and I am tempted to check her for signs of Polyjuice. I haven't seen her outside of Potions classes for two weeks now, and anything could have happened to her in that time.

"Sodding Ginny," she mutters to herself, pointing an unsteady wand at her shoes. I watch as they morph smoothly into a pair of black, low-heeled boots. Impressive – not many students, even ones undertaking their Transfiguration N.E.W.T can transfigure clothing into anything remotely passable, but the boots that now encase her feet look to be of very good quality.

"Is there a reason behind your choice of clothing this evening, Miss Granger?" I ask, eyeing the far too short skirt disdainfully and making sure my eyes don't lift to focus in on the ample amount of cleavage she is also displaying. "Did you lose a bet?"

"Yes, actually."

Well at least that means that the girl has only taken leave of half her senses, as opposed to all of them.

"Have any of the other staff seen you like this?" I ask, tempted to transfigure her clothing into something less distracting so that I can safely look in her direction again. Other students wear clothes not unlike this during parties and holidays, but not _this_ girl and something about seeing her like this feels incredibly wrong.

She looks down the hallway before attempting to stagger down the steps into my quarters. She lurches forward and clutches the nearest thing for support – my robe. The punch has most definitely been spiked again, and Miss Granger appears to have consumed it all herself.

"I cast a Notice Me Not Charm," she informs me, her voice muffled against my chest as I attempt to pry her off me. "Which wasn't technically against the agreement."

_Agreement?_ Oh fuck it – I'm in no state to care about what foolish Gryffindors get up to in their free time. They could be burning down Gryffindor tower and I wouldn't care right now. No I take that back, I'd be there, helping them fan the flames.

"Unfortunately the charm appears to have worn off," I inform her. It would be incredibly difficult not to notice her when she is hanging on to me, putting me even more off balance than I already am, dressed like an only slightly tamer version of a high class Dominatrix. At least when she was in my potions lab annoying the hell out of me she was properly dressed. I remember a time when this school had rules that applied to the seventh-years too, typically back when I was a seventh-year myself.

She pushes on my chest to right herself and she gazes at me through unfocused eyes. I train my eyes on hers in an effort to stop myself from noticing her cleavage. This is just irritating – I should definitely throw her out.

She wobbles on her feet again and resorts to leaning against the thick wooden door frame, folding her arms under her breasts and looking uncomfortable despite the large amount of alcohol she has obviously consumed, which should have lowered her inhibitions to disappearing point. This girl needs to wind down before she breaks and takes us all with her, and this is not the first time I have made this observation.

"I removed the charm, sir," she explains needlessly, her voice slurring a little. She shakes her head to try to clear it and winces as this makes her even more unsteady on her feet. She clutches the door frame more tightly and focuses her gaze on me again.

"I had to talk to you," she informs me.

I look warily at the drunken girl in my doorway. Her eyes are outlined in dark make up, which I have never before seen her wear and they are focused on me with a look that is both apprehensive and pleading. I should have seen this as a sign that nothing that would be coming out of her mouth would be beneficial to me and just closed the door. Anything that happened after, therefore, was entirely my own fault for letting curiosity get the better of me.

"I've been free of your presence for two weeks, Miss Granger," I say, instead of wisely throwing her out. "Is there some reason why you should suddenly need to break that lucky run to darken my doorstep, when you should be at the Halloween Feast, carrying out some inane bet?"

She closes her eyes for a moment and when she opens them there is drunken Gryffindor courage shining from her eyes. If I had any sense, I would be terrified. It is the same sort of determination I see when Minerva tries to get me to meet some 'charming witch' she knows, who has such a 'lovely personality.' Why she thinks the simpering idiots she tries to set me up with would be even remotely interesting is beyond my comprehension even when completely sober.

"I tried to give up and forget about it, but I just can't; not when there's a way it could still work."

I close my eyes, count to ten and decide not to look back at Lupin to observe his reaction to Miss Granger's statement and her current appearance which could be implying anything about our relationship; and not one thing it could imply could possibly be anything good.

"Please, sir," she begs, her voice still slurred as she looks up at me pleadingly. "I have money in my Gringotts vault. It's not a lot when it comes to risking Azkaban I know, but I'll give you every penny if you'll just help me get the blood. I know it's a lot to ask, but you could Obliviate me after and I'd never remember a thing. No one would ever find out"

She shudders visibly at what I assume is the thought of having her mind tampered with, and I understand, the thought of someone playing with my own mind terrifies me too. It takes me more than a few moments to realise that she is offering herself up as the literal virgin sacrifice to obtain her much coveted ingredient. I am utterly stunned; so stunned in fact that for a few moments I actually forget that Miss Granger and I are not the only ones in the room.

I take hold of the girl by the elbows and support her while looking intently at her face for the truth in her words. I would attempt to enter her mind, but with both of us pretty much inebriated it would be confusing for us both and probably end in us both lying together in a pile on the floor.

"You want me to take the blood from _you_?" I ask instead, in disbelief.

"I couldn't put anyone else through that," she says earnestly, shaking her head emphatically in the way that only drunk people can. She nearly overbalances and I tighten my grip on her elbows.

"I have no doubt that you have read up on the subject," I say, knowing she would have put her Head Girl's pass to good use in the Restricted Section before even contemplating coming here. "So you must be aware of everything an extraction would involve?"

She nods, biting her lip and looking up at me earnestly. She looks terrified and I realise that it's not because she's scared of the idea of having that dangerous process performed on her, she's just terrified I'm going to refuse to help her again.

"No one would have to find out, you wouldn't get into trouble," she whispers, looking up at me. Her teeth release her lip and I notice the small indentations where she has been biting so hard. I can't tear my eyes away.

Nearly a minute goes by before Lupin has the decency to clear his throat. Miss Granger tears her eyes from mine to peer around me, and the nervous expression on her face is immediately replaced with one of pleasure.

"Professor Lupin!" she beams and launches herself away from me and across the room, looking like she's about to throw her arms around her ex-professor, who worryingly doesn't look completely adverse to the idea. She stops unsteadily in front of him, still beaming. "Hello, sir."

"Hermione," he says warmly. He reaches up and pulls the girl onto my sofa, puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side to give her a sort of sideways embrace. "Why haven't you been writing to me, hmm? All those promises to keep in touch once you were back at school…"

I clear my throat, impeding her answer. These are _my_ quarters and I barely tolerate Lupin's presence in them, without him inviting the students in to join us in our night of mutual misery.

"The answer to your most eloquent request, Miss Granger, is an unsurprising and resounding no," I inform her. I am impressed at how sober I have just managed to sound, considering my actual state. I open the door for her and for a moment am tempted to force the werewolf out with her.

"What's she asking you to do, Severus?"

Now I am more than tempted.

"Get out, Granger," I order, ignoring Lupin's question, "before I am forced to take you to the Headmaster for being intoxicated on school premises. This is a beautiful example for the Head Girl to be setting."

_Not to mention being indecently clothed._

"Surely it's much worse for her to be seen wandering around the school in this state?"

He is incredibly close to being cursed to within an inch of his life if he doesn't put a sock in it, never mind being thrown out. Miss Granger opens her mouth, seemingly to argue with Lupin's observation that she's in a state. She considers it for a moment and then looks resigned – she knows she's in a state.

"Taking advantage of young girls was more Lockheart's thing, Lupin. I never realised you were into it too. And to think that Albus was considering employing you again after the war…"

The arm he has around Miss Granger's shoulders tightens and his eyes narrow as he watches me. I am reminded that despite his desperate need to be liked, his innate kindness and need to see the very best in people, he is a very powerful Wizard. I, however, am more powerful, he is far more drunk and Gryffindor bating is one of my favourite hobbies. Today I seem to have a two for one deal going on, as a furious, mutinous look appears on the girl's face too.

"Professor Lupin would never…" she starts, the slur disappearing completely from her voice as her indignation on behalf of her friend temporarily overrides her drunkenness.

"Hermione, don't let him bait you," he interrupts her, stroking her arm soothingly. It's now my turn to narrow my eyes, as I wonder if my accusations that were designed purely to provoke, may possibly have some semblance of truth in them.

No, it's impossible. Lupin has more morals than the rest of the Order put together, and a conscience to match. I slam the door to my quarters shut and resigned to my fate, I relax back into one of my armchairs and _Accio_ my drink into my hand, wordlessly and wandlessly. Miss Granger doesn't blink, let alone look even vaguely impressed – this irritates me still further.

"A drink, Miss Granger?" I offer after a moment, with a dangerously benign smile. I pick my most powerful bottle of Firewhisky from the table and pour a good measure of it into a glass. I levitate it over to her.

"Why not?" she asks with a shrug. She holds her hand out to catch the glass that I am sending over to her.

"Because you will be unconscious in less than ten minutes if you drink that on top of all the alcohol you've already had." Remus intercepts the drink before her fingers can close around it and he shakes his head at me. "Play nice, Severus."

There is a delightfully irritated look on the girl's face. However well the werewolf seems to know Miss Granger, he doesn't seem to have picked up on her strong sense of independence and stubbornness. I have only had a month of observing her outside of my classes and I already know that there is a stubborn streak in the girl that is a mile long. She knows her mind, however irksome the thoughts it produces are.

She smoothly takes the glass from his hand and I allow myself to smile smugly. She should definitely be unconscious in very short order, and I can go back to brooding in relative peace.

Her eyes narrow at me and I get the uneasy feeling that she knows exactly what I'm thinking. She lifts the glass to her small, turned up nose and inhales deeply over the amber liquid.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to drink it for me," she says regretfully, sending a small smile in Lupin's direction before handing him the glass. Her hand passes over the glass as she hands it to Lupin and I am about to open my mouth to warn him not to take a drink when she fixes me with a hard stare.

She wants to talk to me alone badly enough that she's prepared to drug a person she obviously cares about. Admittedly, the almost indiscernible spell I noticed her perform did nothing more than times the alcohol content in the glass by a very small amount, but that is still not entirely right, and not what I would have expected from Miss Hermione Granger, House Elf Activist and All Around Perfect Student.

Actually, nothing she has done this entire evening has been in keeping with what I would have expected of the student whose presence I have had to endure for six years. The clothes and make up may have been part of a bet, but for her to make the bet in the first place is, from what I have bothered to remember of her, entirely out of character. Her noticeably intoxicated state when she arrived at the door to my chambers tonight is only slightly stranger than her appearing here at all.

Curiosity may have killed the cat but the cat most definitely enjoyed himself first. For the first time in my association with Miss Granger, she has become interesting. What has changed her?

I watch Lupin sip his drink and wonder, with senses as strong as his, how he hasn't noticed that the drink that before could have been considered smooth, was now practically lethal, and would be less than pleasant to drink. She would have been better offering the man some Absinthe out of my stores, an act which I wouldn't put past her if the thought entered her head. She really doesn't seem to care about inciting my wrath any more.

She leans back against the cushions on my chair and watches me, while Lupin prattles on in a slurred voice about some training they had been doing over the summer. It seems that they have spent most of the summer together, with only weekends apart when she went home to her parents. I am suddenly hit with the quite strange and horrifying thought that maybe she _is_ having an affair with Lupin, and is stringing Potter along at the same time.

I blink to clear my head and look back over at the girl. No, despite the clothes she has been forced into donning this evening, she is still innocent; the very fact that she is so innocent is the reason why she is able to come here tonight to ask me to extract the First Blood from her.

"What were you doing over the summer?" I ask despite myself. I put the glass down on the coffee table and vow not to drink another drop until she has left my rooms.

"Professor Lupin was teaching me Defence," she says, smiling fondly up at the man, who smiles unfocusedly back. "Harry had to be somewhere safe, and with Ron to keep him company he didn't really need me, and with the war…"

"Three months of training with Lupin," I muse, interrupting. "Are you any good?"

"Well right now I can barely walk in a straight line," she informs me needlessly with a small grin. _Yes, that I already know._

"But in general I'm getting there," she finishes with an annoyingly modest shrug of her bare shoulders.

"Alcohol is no excuse," I tell her. "You should always be prepared to defend yourself."

"Constant vigilance!" she snaps, sounding uncannily like Moody. She breaks into another grin and snuggles into Remus' embrace while he takes yet another sip of the drugged drink he has in his grip.

She stops grinning inanely and looks warily up at me from her comfortable position on _my _sofa, as if she was expecting me to suddenly pull my wand from my cloak and attack her. Well, I can't say it isn't tempting.

"A duel?" she offers foolishly, with a small shrug.

"Hermione," Lupin warns her through his alcoholic haze. "Bad idea."

"Oh, I know I'll lose," she says. "But it'll be an experience."

"He knows all the worst sort of curses," Lupin slurs slowly, trying again to dissuade her. His eyes are closed and he is evidently in no state to stop her. Hermione squeezes his arm gently as she moves away from him and gets unsteadily to her feet.

"Then maybe we should try it the Muggle way?"

She takes a step towards the armchair I am currently residing in but stops when I start talking – apparently she is no state to listen and walk at the same time – which isn't entirely surprising.

"Are you assuming that I am unskilled in any sort of hand to hand combat, or are you merely feeling suicidal?" I ask her, partially serious. Maybe a deep-seated depression was the underlying reason for her temporary insanity this evening?

"Suicidal," she informs me succinctly.

Well, that answered that question, at least.

"If I hadn't let you spike my drink, I'd be sober enough to stop you right now," Lupin slurs from his position on the sofa, sliding down the sofa and twisting so that he could lie flat on it, which in my opinion is quite sensible of him.

The girl at least has the grace to wince a little, but only for a moment. She moves carefully to my chair and puts out her hand, offering to pull me up. I gaze at her hand for a moment, wondering how this night has suddenly become so surreal. Should I take her hand, or should I tell her to leave? Assuming she would take any notice, that would leave me alone with a comatose Lupin, far too sober for comfort, but far too drunk to do anything but mope.

The decision is taken from my hands when Miss Granger curses under her breath and turns away from me. I wonder what the problem is for a moment before I realise that Lupin isn't unconscious quite yet, and he is currently lying on the sofa with fresh tears making his pale cheeks wet.

"It's okay," she murmurs. She kneels by the side of the sofa and slides one arm under his waist, wrapping the other one around him too. She seems unfazed when he buries his face in her neck and starts crying in earnest, clinging to her. Alcohol is a depressant, and Lupin was far from happy to start with.

"You've got so many people who still care about you, Remus," she tells him, lifting a hand to stroke his hair soothingly. Gone is the formal title she had been insisting on less than an hour earlier and I am suddenly jealous of the way she is holding him so gently. I don't ever remember being shown that sort of affection, even in my childhood, and although I am aware of every reason for Lupin's current despair, I find myself wishing myself in his place.

"Harry has been looking for you all night," she says, resting her forehead against his. "Do you want me to tell him where you are?"

I direct what can only be described as a panicked look in Miss Granger's direction. I will _not_ have Potter in my rooms under any circumstances. I contemplate leaving both the girl and the werewolf in my corridor and going to bed.

"I think I should go to bed." That is, without a doubt, the first good suggestion he has had all night.

"I don't think you should be on your own."

Does she plan on sleeping with him? I must ask Albus what on earth he was thinking letting a man of Lupin's age and experience spend the summer alone with a young and relatively innocent girl. I'm only thankful that Miss Granger won't be around next year when Lupin is possibly to become the Defence teacher once again – his favouritism was galling enough when she and the two idiots were in their third year, and he barely knew them then.

"He can sleep on my sofa," I inform her, just in case she is thinking of inviting him back to her Head Girl's quarters or something equally inane. I use my wand to _Accio_ a blanket for Lupin and she catches it quite deftly considering she is two sheets to the wind. When she has tucked the cover gently around the werewolf, she gets to her feet.

"Goodnight," she whispers, touching his cheek. I look away, contemplating the collection of de-activated Dark Arts artefacts I have on the shelf before me. I am so intent on not watching the girl and Lupin that I don't notice her standing in front of me until she is reaching for my hand again.

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" she asks me softly.

I want to say no, and my head is vehemently telling me to say no, to throw her out of my rooms; but somehow someone else is in control of my body. I find myself nodding and rising to my feet, ignoring her offered hand as I stride past her.

It strikes me that I haven't held anyone's hand since I was a small child, shopping with my mother.

"Not here," I tell her, looking over at Lupin's seemingly unconscious form. I open the door to the library with a flick of my wand and gesture her in.

She follows me, uncharacteristically silent. The room is quite small, as it houses only my own personal books and none that belong to the school, but it is still my favourite room and it is where I usually spend my evenings, in the only chair in the room, in front of the fireplace. This is my haven, away from students and the Dark Lord and responsibility, where I can lose myself for a few hours a week.

Seconds pass and it occurs to me that since we entered the room Miss Granger hasn't said a word. I turn to make sure she is still in the room and realise she is standing stock still, her eyes wide and bright. I should have realised that this room would be a Utopia to someone like her; a room full of forbidden or unusual books that you would be very unlikely to find in the library. I find myself surprised she hasn't already cracked a book open and thrown herself into my own chair to read it.

She turns reluctantly to give me her full attention and I run my hand through my hair in frustration. I know what she is about to ask and contrary to her belief, I do not enjoy refusing her.

"I understand that you are disappointed," I tell her. "You have shown remarkable restraint in not coming here over the past two weeks, and I know you think the First Blood is the ingredient you need."

"It _is_," she assures me, earnestly. I realise the alcohol isn't anywhere near leaving her system yet.

"It is speculation. A long shot, like all the other ingredients were, Miss Granger"

"It has to work," she says desperately. "If I mix it with the crushed Bezoar and…"

"I have read your theories," I interrupt. "A long shot is not worth risking everything for, and it is certainly not worth the danger you would be putting yourself in going through the extraction itself – you are aware of the dangers?"

"It's perfectly safe with someone who knows what they're doing."

_For fuck sake!_

"You are assuming I would know what I was doing," I snap. This is getting ridiculous. I have never met someone who refuses to take no for an answer quite as stubbornly as Hermione Granger.

She fixes me with a scornful look that tells me she isn't actually going to bother replying to that. I wonder why she has such confidence in my abilities as a Potions Master when, truthfully, in all the years I have taught her, I have done nothing but belittle or ignore her presence completely. Admittedly, the reasons behind this are not all because I am a complete bastard, but I doubt she is aware of the pressures that are put upon me to keep up my façade as _Prejudiced Bastard Extraordinaire._

_Is it even still a façade?_

"Fine," I say. "If you won't take the danger to yourself, or the risk of Azkaban for us _both_ into account, there is also the fact that I never want to see one of my students unclothed, and if I were to do this, there would be no choice in the matter."

"I'm sure you would be completely professional," she tells me haughtily.

Does she honestly think I am made of stone?

"And who would you propose would be the person to take your virginity for this little task?" I ask. "Do you suggest I rouse Lupin and ask him if he's feeling energetic?"

I am aware that I'm being slightly crude, but I am suddenly wondering why I am even bothering to argue with her. I should just have taken house points from her every time she opened her mouth, then thrown her out when that became tedious.

"I…"

She is momentarily lost for words, which I feel is something of an achievement. I should take advantage of this moment of silence to get rid of her, but I don't.

"Harry?" she suggests hopefully.

That disgusting pink school punch she has undoubtedly consumed far too much of this evening has definitely addled her brain.

"I'll find someone," she vows, reading the look on my face quickly and entirely accurately. "Someone discreet, who we can trust."

"Miss Granger, you could ask Albus himself, and he still wouldn't be trustworthy enough for me."

The look of disgust and revulsion on her face almost makes this entire conversation worthwhile, but unfortunately only almost.

I do understand where her desperation is coming from. As much as she irks me, I have taken the time to read over all of her equations and every one of her theories for this project. There is a very good chance that First Blood is her missing ingredient, and she has certainly tried everything else. A potion that would reduce or eliminate the effects of the Cruciactus Curse would without a doubt swing this war in our favour. Add to that the fact that she has been working on this potion in theory at least for a long time and I am surprised she is showing _this_ amount of restraint.

"I don't suppose there is any chance you would consider…" she closes her eyes, gathering courage to finish her question. I know what she is going to ask and the tightness in my throat worries me more than a little.

"Get out, Miss Granger."

"Sir…"

"Get out!" I bellow.

She looks at me for a moment, then nods slowly. She takes two steps towards the door and I think she is going to go around me to get to it. Instead she stops just in front of me.

"Goodnight, sir," she says, just as softly as when she said the same words to Lupin, what can only have been minutes earlier. She reaches her hand up so quickly I have no time to stop her, and she runs the backs of her fingers over my cheek. By the time I have recovered my senses enough to speak, she has already gone, leaving me alone in my rooms, with nothing but an inebriated, depressed werewolf for company.

I feel curiously empty.

_xxx_

**Draycott Hotel, London**

_Empty…?_

"I'd forgotten about dressing you up that night!" Ginny exclaimed, grinning and putting paid to Hermione's jumbled and turbulent thoughts. "I can't believe you went to talk to Snape dressed like that!"

"I can't believe you made me go through with wearing the awful thing. Besides, it was only once the alcohol was in my system that I had the idea and felt brave enough to go."

"That corset was gorgeous," Ginny said, looking hurt and Hermione remembered too late that the entire outfit had belonged to Ginny and had only been transfigured to fit her. "I thought you looked great – it was well worth all that nagging and threatening I did to get Ron and Harry to do all that extra homework. I knew I could make them do it."

"I just didn't look like myself," Hermione said, suppressing a wince at the memory of having to walk in the shoes that had definitely not been made for human use. Only Harry, Ron and Ginny had seen her in the clothes Ginny had insisted on dressing her in, and if she hadn't thought to cast the Notice Me Not charm, she doubted whether she would have ever lived the outfit down. Ron had looked like he was ready to pass out.

"That's the whole point of Halloween!" Ginny exclaimed, rolling her eyes in mock disgust at her friend. "And in those days you were so insecure about your looks, it must have done you some good to see the effect you had on Harry and Ron. I can't believe Snape didn't fancy you in it – I always knew he wasn't human."

Hermione was saved from having to make the choice between throwing a scathing retort at Ginny, or throwing her out, when a sharp knock sounded at the door.

"Chocolate!" she exclaimed, putting the diary down for the first time since she had lifted it from its box.

"It's nice to know you still have your priorities straight," sighed Ginny, taking the tray from the man at the door and breathing in the smell of the hot chocolate cake. "Calories, how I've missed you."

Hermione smiled at the immaculately dressed man and let him in to set the ice bucket up next to their bed and open one of the bottles of wine. When he had finished she tipped him with a shy smile – she still wasn't used to having money, and she wondered what on earth the poor man thought of she and Ginny sharing the honeymoon suite.

_It'll fuel his fantasies for the rest of the week,_ she thought with a wicked grin as she clambered back onto the bed.

"You look great, you know," Hermione told her friend. She reached for one of the bowls on the tray, ignoring the ice bucket holding the bottles of wine – the chocolate was far more important. "If you keep dieting, you'll end up looking like Pansy Parkinson, not to mention the fact that your mum's going to go mad if you keep losing weight like this."

Ginny froze as she was lifting a large spoon of chocolate cake to her mouth. She turned her wide-eyed look to Hermione and dropped the spoon back into the bowl.

"Mum," Ginny said, looking like she had seen a ghost, a look of recollection on her face.

"No, Her-mi-o-nie,' Hermione said slowly, amused.

"Mum knows, doesn't she?"

Hermione winced, which answered Ginny more surely than if Hermione had spoken.

"How! I noticed she was acting strangely, even Fred and George noticed… Hermione, how does she know!"

"You don't want to know," Hermione told her. "Look, read these with me and eventually I'm sure you'll find out."

"I don't know that I want to," Ginny muttered, spooning a large piece of sticky cake into her mouth.

_xxx_

Thank you once again to my fantastic betas, **Twice1203** and **DeathStarring**, for all their hard work and patience. :o)


	4. Awakening

Nothing you recognise in this story is mine; it all belongs to JKR and various other people who still most definitely aren't me. No lawsuits.

_xxx_

_Out of control of a history untold  
It begins with the father of sin  
I walk alone in the garden of stones  
I turn into the monster within  
Life is too long for me  
Life is too wrong for me _

Cause there's something that  
I realise  
That I miss being human  
I realise  
That I miss being human

_Awakening by Damning Well_

_xxx_

**Draycott Hotel, London**

Their dessert bowls almost licked clean and clutching a large glass of wine each, the two girls clambered back onto the king-sized bed and slid under the warm covers.

"Now I feel sick," Hermione commented, leaning back against her pillows and not sounding overly bothered by the fact.

"That's the sign of a really good dessert," Ginny observed contentedly. "So, you and Snape got together because he slept with you to help you get the blood and… what? You liked it so much you kept going back for more?" The revulsion and disbelief on Ginny's face made Hermione wince.

"No, nothing like that," Hermione replied firmly. "In the end Severus agreed to take my blood with Harry involved. Severus would have barely had to touch me."

"How on earth did you get him to agree to that?" Ginny asked. She screwed her nose up and took a tentative sip of the wine. For the price Hermione was paying for it, Ginny supposed gulping it down in an effort to make the night go more quickly was almost sacrilege. Still, it was tempting. She arched her back to relieve the aching from sitting still for too long and snuggled back against the pillows again. She put her glass onto the bedside table to distance herself from the temptation.

Hermione gave her a half smile and flicked through the pages of the diary, explaining while she searched the diary for the relevant entry.

"I irritated him every day for nearly two weeks," she said with a wry smile. "He finally gave in, just as I was storming down to the dungeons to tell him he'd won and I'd given up."

_xxx_

**Diary of Severus Snape, 1997-1998**

Wednesday, November 19th 1997

It has been five days since I was last summoned to the Dark Lord's side and my hands have only just become steady enough to once again hold my quill. The Dark Lord, it seems, is growing impatient with my lack of information – the titbits Albus has been supplying me with are insignificant when what he really wants to know is the location in which Potter and his friends will be residing this summer.

I can only assume the Dark Lord means to confront Potter for the final time once he has left the protection of Hogwarts, which at least gives Albus more time to prepare the idiot boy for what I sincerely hope is not the boy's doom. Although, if he does manage to defeat the Dark Lord against the appalling odds that are certainly stacked against him, I may even consider not bludgeoning him to death in the aftermath and making it look like a tragic accident.

The answer to the question the Dark Lord put to me five days ago is that, really, I haven't a fucking clue. This was not exactly what He-Who-Gets-Annoyed-Very-Easily wanted to hear, and even put across in a much more polite and apologetic way, the information did not go down well. Further grovelling and vows to do better also didn't make a difference, and I hardly expected it to; anything less than Harry Potter's head on a plate would not have saved me from the bout of torture the Dark Lord was even more than usually eager to give me.

As I fell to the floor, unwilling screams forcing their way from my throat, my eyes fell on the incredibly amused and mocking face of Lucius Malfoy. In the seconds before my eyes were finally forced shut in an effort to combat the pain, I remember being very certain that what was happening to me was in good part due to something Lucius had been telling the Dark Lord about me.

This was not the first time I have doubted my chance of survival during an audience with the Dark Lord, but it was the first time I have ever let myself be found by a student in the hours afterwards. Usually when I am incapable of making my way to my quarters alone, I send my Patronus to the nearest Order member, more often than not, Hagrid.

They usually take my broken and frequently bleeding body straight to Poppy, who mutters about what a bastard Albus is for sending me to this fate time and time again. Then when I open my mouth to agree, she tells me to be quiet and that I am a fool. It is only because she keeps me in one piece that I haven't poisoned her yet.

This time I had neither the wand in my possession nor the grip in my hand with which to hold it. I was going to bleed to death on the cold stone of the castle floors before the morning came.

I can only assume that, in my pain-induced delirium that I thought it would be a good idea to crawl through the hallways of Hogwarts in an attempt to get back to my quarters to die there. Or perhaps I had some idea that if I got to my quarters I would find enough medicinal potions to at least make my death a painless one. I do know that I had no thoughts of surviving this time.

When I woke up less than a day later, not only alive but able to breathe without the usual stabbing pain and tremors, the hazy memories of a student being in my quarters could have easily been put down to confusion, due to the severe blood loss I had experienced. I thought of leaving the blurry memories as they were and not attempting to retrieve them, but as I was more than a little sure that the student who saved my life that night was none other than Hermione Granger, I felt it necessary that I find out how much I had stupidly allowed myself to reveal to her and exactly how indebted I am to her.

Dishearteningly, the debt I owe and the current state of my weakened body is all for very little. The only useful piece of information I managed to glean from the meeting that was almost my last was the fact that the Dark Lord is definitely not going to make a move until Potter leaves this school. This fact had already been deduced at an Order meeting weeks earlier.

I would put this decision of the Dark Lord's down to a sense of honour and fair play if he were anyone else, but of course I and everyone else knows better. The Dark Lord has some idea of the protection that living with his Muggle relatives affords, and that while Potter is at Hogwarts, Albus has his own wards shielding him. The Dark Lord is determined that there will be no mistakes or miraculous escapes this time and is obsessive in his pursuit of the boy.

Admittedly, I, too, would be more than a little bit irked if a baby managed to almost defeat me, and then again managed to escape my clutches relatively unscathed as a child. If Potter weren't such a prat, I'd raise my glass to him.

Unfortunately, the rotten apple did not fall far from the even more rotten tree, and the boy really is his father's son. Potters have been the bane of my life for far too many years, and now, due to a brief absence of sanity on my part, he is going to be a further part of my life. Who knew Miss Granger would have the lack of scruples needed to pray on the weak? She should have been sorted into Slytherin – maybe the time spent in my company while working on that infernal potion of hers has had a marked influence on her. Could her current ruthlessness be my fault? It would be typical.

I only fully realise the situation I find myself in after sitting for hours at my Pensieve the morning after the event. I watch myself crawl on hands and knees in what is vaguely the direction of the dungeons; the various small broken bones from my physical beatings make it excruciating for me to watch myself, steeled as I am for it. Apparently my Pensieve-self agrees completely, as he loses consciousness some distance from the door to my quarters, and the Pensieve world around me fades to black.

Moments later, the sound of footsteps are echoing around the empty hall that I am lying in, a rapidly spreading pool of blood forming around my body, framing it grotesquely. Miss Granger comes into view, walking quickly and purposefully, and I assume I am no longer unconscious, which is not a good thing considering the pain I will have been forced to endure at the time. She is nearly upon me before she notices I am there – vigilant, she is not.

She pales in shock and bends over me, brushing the hair away from my neck with her fingers and checking my neck for a pulse in the Muggle way. She appears to find a beat and then moves her wand over my body, scanning, attempting to find where the bleeding is stemming from. A full five minutes of healing charms later and she has managed to curb the flow of blood, and only then does she dare lift her wand to conjure a Patronus to send for help.

The speed and unexpectedness of my hand shooting out to grasp her wand arm at the wrist makes even me flinch as I watch; Miss Granger, who looks more than a little terrified at the situation she has stumbled into, screams loudly.

"No," I croak. "No."

She looks confused and panicked for a long moment, and then her gaze falls on her wand. The expression of confusion clears only to make way for one of complete exasperation. She is thoroughly annoyed with me.

"You need medical attention, Professor," she informs me curtly, stating the obvious and making the watching-me want to throw something heavy and solid at her. "I have managed to stop the bleeding, but Heaven knows what else is wrong with you."

"Not here," I manage to push out through my dried and tortured throat. "My rooms."

"And I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will take you there," she tells me soothingly, lying through her teeth.

"After about a month in the Infirmary," she then mutters under her breath.

"You."

Apparently I am not overly eloquent when cursed and beaten to near death. I am tempted to find Miss Granger now and erase her entire memory of the night without even watching the rest of this first.

"I might kill you if I try to move you," she tells me, exasperated.

"Try." Even now I don't know what possessed me.

"Oh, for Heaven… right, fine. But if you die, on your own head be it. Don't you dare become a ghost and haunt Gryffindor Common room for all eternity or something."

I am assuming that the broken me in the Pensieve is just as horrified by the thought of spending all eternity in the Gryffindor Common room as I am, as a choked noise that could have been an incredulous snort coming from the floor confirms that.

"Good point," she says, apparently understanding me despite myself.

She sighs and casts a Petrificus Totalus on my body, explaining to me as she does so that it's for my own good, and I can't take points away for it in the morning, assuming I live that long – I do hope she doesn't have aspirations of going into the Healing Profession with that utterly charming bedside manner of hers.

She floats my body along the hallway and towards my quarters, a look of concentration on her face, until the look again turns to one of vexation as she reaches the door.

"Why can't you have a portrait like everyone else?" she asks as she casts a number of revealing spells and spies the complex warding that makes my chambers safe from intruders and students alike.

My quarters are close to being as secure as Gringotts itself. Portraits are unreliable and unsafe, not to mention the fact that anyone could hear you speaking your password to it on a daily basis. I had my portrait removed and replaced by a door within my first week of teaching at the castle. Anyone attempting to get through my wards without the utmost care would be in the Infirmary for weeks. Dangerous? Yes. Satisfying? Undeniably.

She tries to lower the wards for a minute or two before she lets out yet another frustrated sigh, lowers me to the ground and takes the Petrificus Totalus off me too. I groan immediately and she winces in sympathy.

"You're going to have to do it," she says shortly, but I detect a faint trace of envy and admiration in her expression. "It would take me hours to get through all that. Possibly days."

"No wand," I tell her, lifting my arm to reach for hers and biting back a scream that is fighting to the surface as broken bones and torn muscles all over my body protest at my attempt at movement.

Moments later, moments which I hazily remember being some of the most excruciating of my life, the door swings open and Miss Granger attempts to get me safely inside. When she knocks my arm against the doorframe as she tries to manoeuvre my body through the door, I cannot cry out in my inert state, but for the second time that night I mercifully pass out. I say mercifully not because of the pain I was undoubtedly in, but because when I do finally come to, and the Pensive is again colour-filled, Miss Granger has managed to undress me and place me on my own bed, with nothing but a thin sheet covering me from the waist down.

I can only hope to God (who I'm only believing in right now in my own complete desperation) that she covered me before using a spell to remove my clothes. The last thing I need is for her to be telling her vile friends that she has seen the dreaded Potions Master's cock. I would never live that down and would be forced to resign. Then kill her.

I concentrate on the scene before me. She is sitting on my bed, staring at me, so intent on scrutinizing my body with her eyes that she isn't even aware that I am again aware. She is fixated on the scars that traverse my chest. They are usually hidden completely by several layers of clothing, and the only people to have seen them other than the Mediwitch upstairs are Albus and Lucius, and it was Lucius himself who put a good percentage of them there.

She seems revolted and intrigued at the same time and is completely unaware that I have opened my eyes and am silently watching her from the bed.

"Enjoying yourself?" my past self asks hoarsely.

The witch perched on the edge of my bed jumps visibly at the sound of my voice. Almost immediately a glass of water is pressed to my lips and she tries to help me drink. This is probably an attempt at stopping me from speaking again.

"I healed what I could," she says, still sounding somewhat terrified, but still somehow irritatingly domineering. "But you don't have the potions to hand that can help with the rest. I have to get Madam Pomfrey for you."

"She isn't here."

"Isn't…?" She thinks for a moment. "I'm sure someone will know where to find her."

"Order work," I gasp out. Both of my selves know that the Mediwitch is currently with Lupin in an undisclosed location healing the injured Werewolves in the pack that Lupin is attempting to befriend. Anyone going in and interrupting her could disturb the tentative bond of trust they have finally managed to establish with a good percentage of the pack.

"Then there's St. Mungo's," she says, not giving up. "Someone will come from there."

"Fine."

I wince at the sulkiness in my own voice and she sighs impatiently, as if dealing with an ill-tempered child.

"You need Skele-Gro, a blood replenishing potion and a handful of other things. If you're really so against me getting you someone who could help you, someone who would actually have some idea of what they're doing, then you're going to have to give me permission to steal from the Infirmary. None of the things I need to heal you are in your stores."

"I brew them for the Infirmary," I tell her. Then I gasp. The pain seems to be becoming distracting and I watch as my Pensieve self writhes on the bed, trying to fend off the spasms of pain, only succeeding in jolting the broken bones and torn ligaments that are the source of a good part of that pain.

"I know," she tells me quickly, looking at the state I am in, in obvious horror. "Which is why I need you to not expel me for stealing from the stores in the Infirmary."

"Miss Granger," I speak through gritted teeth, both annoyance and pain visible on my face. "I am currently more concerned with not passing out from the pain. Find the potions before I…"

_Before I what? Bleed to death on her? Pass out again? Terrifying._

"I'll go, sir." She pauses for a second and regards me thoughtfully.

"What?" I snap again.

The thoughtful look is replaced by a look of extreme exasperation, which once more makes me feel like I am an errant child.

"I hope you realise that your stubbornness could kill you – I'm no healer."

My mouth opens to snap back at her, probably to tell her that I am well aware she is no healer and she can bugger off if she doesn't want to help, but she is gone before I can get the first word out.

The world around me once more fades to black as I must have fallen into a pain-induced sleep, or perhaps lost consciousness yet again. When the world fades in again she is bending over my prone form in the bed. Her usually unruly hair has been hastily scraped back into a tight ponytail, which curiously suits her, as it makes her eyes seem much larger and reveals the pointiness of her chin. She looks vaguely elf-like in the dim lighting of my room.

An arm slips around the back of my shoulders and she gently lifts my head and shoulders with strength I would not have suspected in her, despite the fact that she has long outgrown her childish figure.

"Come on, Professor," she mutters to herself, obviously of the opinion that I am still unconscious. "If I don't get this down you the damage will be irreversible by the time any Healers get to look at you. Just open your mouth. It'll all be okay. Just drink and the pain will go away. Come on."

I never knew someone could sound both tender and irritated at the same time.

A thumb on my bottom lip parts my mouth and it strikes me that I remember this happening. I remember her soft voice soothing me, although the words were indecipherable at that point. I remember her thumb against my mouth and the cool glass against my lips. I remember the spicy, coppery taste of the blood-replenishing potion as it slides past my tongue and down my throat. I remember feeling safe for the first time in a very long time.

A mixture of potions follows that one, each of them taking effect quickly and attempting to mend my shattered body. She casts yet more spells on me, so quickly and deftly I can barely register what each of them are before she moves onto the next. No, she isn't a healer, but she would make an exceptional one, despite her appalling lack of manners and good grace.

I watch my past self lying there. My eyes are shut and the bare hint of colour that is usually barely detectable in my cheeks is finally returning. I look less shockingly lifeless now, and evidently Miss Granger sees that too, because she sighs softly in relief and buries her head in her hands.

She sits on the side of my bed, her shoulders shaking and her entire body trembling. I watch her in my useless, ghost-like form in the Pensieve and move closer. She is sobbing quietly. I kneel on the floor by her feet and rack my brains for something to say, at the same time knowing it is a complete waste of time. This is a memory and is several hours in the past; I cannot comfort the girl, and my other self in the bed was in no position to at the time.

She tries to steady her breathing and I hear a choked, scornful laugh; she is irritated with herself for being so emotional. She reaches back to pull the band from her hair and the riot of curls once again obscures half of her features. It is wild, untamed and curiously alluring. I get to my feet and take a step away from her, joining her in being thoroughly annoyed with myself.

She swipes the tears away from her eyes and cheeks and she checks my pulse again with her wand, moving it over my body and looking further relieved. She has done marvellously, which of course I can never tell her, as I will never be mentioning this night to her or anyone else ever again in my life time.

I am just starting to relax, thinking that this would probably be when the girl would be leaving my room to let me rest, and the night I could barely remember would be over with. Then she does something that makes my mind reel in shock and my hands clench uselessly by my sides.

I watch as she leans forward and gently pulls the sheet down from my torso, so it barely keeping me decent. She stares at the scars on my chest and I can see her eyes following the lines.

A finger traces the scar that starts just under my left nipple, not quite touching my skin. She follows its curve all the way from my nipple to where it disappears under the sheet. I hold my breath, and she appears to as well. She swallows visibly and flicks her wand to cover me up with the sheet again, her expression unreadable. After checking my temperature to make sure I am not burning up from the cocktail of potions she has given me, she summons blankets to cover me, too.

But the damage is done – I am shaken and severely displeased with the way I am feeling. If I had known she had done this before visiting my Pensieve, there is no way I would have ever agreed to help her get her ingredient. I am already making plans to get out of the promise I vaguely remember making to her.

I start as my own choked voice comes to my ears.

"You shouldn't be here," I choke out, my eyes bloodshot but open and searching hers.

"I know," she whispers. She presses a soothing hand to my forehead and brushes the hair away. "Just rest for now."

Her familiarity astounds and galls me, while part of me is desperate to remember the touch of her fingers on my skin. I am in no way attracted to the girl, but a part of me that hasn't been allowed to surface in a long time craves the tender touch of someone's, _anyone's _hand. I hate myself for feeling this, while craving it still more.

"I stopped the bleeding," she tells me, tucking the blanket around me in like I am a small child. I haven't been treated like this _since_ I was a small child, as I recall, ill at home with the Measles, a tediously Muggle disease. "Nothing serious is broken, and I've given you a muscle relaxant for the spasms. I don't know what Madam Pomfrey usually does for the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse."

She looks at me with a questioning look on her face, her mouth opens to ask a question, and then she seems to think better of it. Her eyes are on me, and either the intensity of her stare or the bruising from my broken ribs is restricting my breathing. What my excuse is as I watch this interaction, I'm not entirely sure.

"What?" I force out.

"Those scars," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where… where did they come from?"

Sudden revulsion hits me and I am struck with the overwhelming urge to add more scars to my body, to find my very sharpest of scalpels and slice into my arms and chest until this sudden bout of self hatred is overwhelmed with pain and disappears.

Instead, I snap at her to get out. The effort of the sharply spoken words seems to send a painful spasm of pain wracking through my body, burning its path through me until I want to scream.

"Here, drink this." Her arm is supporting my head again and a vial of something is being pressed to my lips. "Dreamless sleep," she explains at the question in my eyes.

She gives me a faltering smile, which betrays just how out of her depth she is here with me. A thousand protests go through my mind – I must report to Albus, I have to make sure he knows about what happened with at the Halloween Revel that I didn't attend. I have to get up and teach in less than a handful of hours. I have to work on the potion to help get Albus back to full strength – he's been looking so unwell lately. I can't just sleep.

"Drink," she urges again. Her voice is soft, and with the hand that is holding the vial of potion, her thumb moves to caress my cheek. I fight the urge to turn my face into her hand – that would be suicide. Instead I open my mouth and swallow down the thick Dreamless Sleep potion.

My eyes are already feeling heavy when I force them open to meet her gaze. "I'll do it," I murmur, barely having the energy to move my lips.

"What?" Her brow furrows and her teeth gnaw at her lip.

"First Blood," I clarify, using as few words as possible.

The look of utter shock on her face is the last thing I see, before surrendering to the potion and the soothing hand that had moved to softly stroke the hair back from my forehead. Later, I remember waking to be utterly horrified to have let my guard down in front of a student, enough to fall asleep with her hand in my hair. Typically, _that_ I remember.

She had done more than she needed to, and more than I could have ever expected of her. She is a girl who is known for breaking the rules along with her idiot friends, but only when her judgement tells her that the benefits are worth the rule breaking involved. Her judgment should have overruled my pleas; she should have ignored me and gone to get help.

At the time I have a hazy memory of being surprised she had listened to me, and thinking that it was really quite stupid of her. Of course, half an hour later when I woke up to find a St Mungo's Mediwitch by my side, along with a reproving Minerva glaring at me from the end of my bed, I was furious with her for ignoring my wishes.

_xxx_

**Draycott Hotel, London**

"He was so broken. When I snuck back the next night I was sure the wards and password would have been changed, but I had to try to see how he was."

"How was he?"

Hermione grinned. "Grumpy as hell, and furious that I dared come back. But he didn't back out of what he had agreed to, although he tried to make it sound like I had conned him into agreeing to do it. He was going to make Harry swear a Wand Oath never to mention his part in it to anyone."

"Not you too?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. "He pointed out that I'd be sharing a cosy cell with him in Azkaban if anyone ever found out."

"So that's how you and Harry first slept together?" Ginny asked, taking a sip of her wine. "For the potion? Not a very romantic first time."

"It didn't happen."

"What do you mean it didn't happen?" Ginny asked, sounding irritated. "You made the potion – we all used it."

"Eventually, yes. Severus told me to give him a week to recover from being cursed – you need a huge amount of power to collect the Blood. So many incantations. He asked me about my menstrual cycle, which made me want to sink into the ground and disappear, and he gave me a long list of potions to prepare.

Ginny nodded, indicating to Hermione to continue.

"We agreed to do it in a room in the East Tower, away from prying eyes," Hermione carried on. "And prying ears. You can't cast charms anywhere near the person giving the Blood, so silencing charms are impossible; I think Severus was expecting me to scream the place down. The room was set up, and I spent the afternoon with you, if you remember? I had a bath and you did my makeup and hair."

Ginny nodded, remembering. "For Harry, I thought. For a date with him. No wonder he looked so terrified, not many people have Professor Snape present to witness them losing their virginity.' She smirked.

"It was really lovely of you to help me. I know you still half-fancied Harry then, and if there could have been anyone else to help me… you know Harry and I weren't together then?"

"He slept in your room every night," Ginny said, remembering clearly her burning jealousy as she watched him come out of Hermione's Head Girls room every morning, smiling affectionately at Hermione.

"He used to have really awful nightmares. That's how it all started – the first time he came into my room and slept on my floor. He said it helped to have someone there who he could talk to when he woke up. Then he started coming to be held after them."

"Can't see Ron being the cuddling sort if Harry woke up in the middle of the night needing comfort," Ginny said with a grin.

Hermione grimaced. "I really don't need those images."

"So you and Harry weren't together when you asked him to sleep with you? Did you tell him it was all in the name of research?"

"I did. He was reluctant at first – he told me then that he found me attractive, but thought that sleeping together would ruin our friendship."

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ginny said, laughing. "What bloke would say no to no strings sex? I know Harry has always been the big hero, but that's going a bit far."

"Oh he agreed to do it in the end – you know how Harry is; if the potion would give our side an edge in the battle, then he would do anything to help. I got all dressed up and got Harry to meet me in the room. We were both nervous as hell, and Harry was late, which didn't help. Even Severus looked a little apprehensive. He had to perform spells that were so exact that if they were even slightly off, he could have killed me. All without Professor Dumbledore's permission, although I'm sure he knew at the time – he always knows everything, doesn't he?"

Hermione climbed off the bed and padded over to the large window. Darkness had fallen quickly, and Hermione pressed her nose to the window as she watched the people in the street below. This was the reason she didn't care much for London – all the people below were on their way somewhere, in a rush, and it always seemed that way here. She had always wanted to live in the country or by the sea, but she'd never thought she'd be living somewhere so completely different to that.

Ginny joined Hermione at the window, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" she asked softly, wiping the condensation away with her sleeve to look out. "After living in the Burrow all my life, I'd give anything to be moving into your new house with you next month. Sure you don't want a roommate?"

"You're assuming I'll still be with Harry, and that I'll still be moving," Hermione said, resting her forehead against the cold glass.

"You're letting a few diaries screw with your mind, Hermione," Ginny said. She squeezed Hermione's shoulder, attempting to be comforting. "I'm not going to tell Harry you were unfaithful, nothing has to change."

"Harry knows I slept with someone else."

Hermione's expression was hidden behind a bush of tangled hair and as she kept her forehead pressed against the glass of the window, but Ginny knew she was absolutely serious.

"What're you on about?" Ginny asked, letting go of Hermione's shoulder and recoiling in shock. "Harry never said, and you two have been so happy together."

"It will be in the diaries," Hermione answered, moving back from the window and lifting her hands to massage her temples. She rubbed her cold forehead and pulled the curtains closed behind her.

"We're never going to get any sleep tonight." Ginny's voice was resigned as she took hold of Hermione's hand and dragged her back to the bed. "Fill our glasses and let's get on with it."

"I love him, Ginny."

The voice was so desperate and full of pain that Ginny had to close her eyes for a moment before she responded.

"Harry?" she asked hopefully, her eyes still closed.

When she opened her eyes and looked at Hermione, she was standing by the side of the bed, looking more lost than Ginny had ever seen her. Despite this, she was still managing to direct an annoyed and scornful look at Ginny.

"Then why aren't you with him?" Ginny asked, exasperated. For an intelligent girl, Hermione had made some awful decisions over the past few years and solving all her problems in one night was going to be impossible.

"He doesn't want me."

_Oh._

Ginny sighed deeply and climbed onto the bed, holding her hand out to pull Hermione onto it too. She placed the diary in her friend's lap and pushed a glass of wine into her hand.

"I didn't do much more than flick through those diaries, Hermione," she told her, "but I can safely say that Snape, or Severus or whatever you want to call him _does_ want you."

"How…?"

"As you keep saying to me," Ginny interrupted, "Read the diaries and you'll see. Where were we?"

"Harry and I trying to have sex," Hermione supplied with a grimace that didn't go unnoticed by her friend. "It didn't go all that well. Harry didn't want to be there and I nothing I did could get him into the right sort of mood."

"Understandable," Ginny commented, cringing. "Snape could have taken points away if Harry performed inadequately."

Hermione glared at Ginny, who grinned back.

"At least I've stopped wanting to curse you," Ginny pointed out, cheerfully.

Hermione stuck her tongue out and finished off the last drop of wine in her glass and then filled it up again. If she was going to cope with this, she was going to need to order more wine. Severus had definitely passed on his unhealthy drinking habits.

"I got as far as removing my top and bra in the hopes of enticing him with the promise of breasts, when Harry just bolted. He left me there, lying on the bed, half-dressed and utterly humiliated."

"Fuck."

"Yes. And when Severus saw me on the bed, he pretty much bolted too."

_xxx_

Author's Notes: A big thank you to my beta, **Sophi**, who is fantastic and nowhere near as scary as she threatened to be ;o) Any mistakes you find are completely my own.

There was recently a discussion on WIKTT about clichés and which ones are hated the most. I like clichés and I should probably warn you that this story is probably going to be full of them (Hermione working on a potion to counteract the Cruciatus spell, Snape being full of self hatred and Hermione fixing him up after a meeting with Voldemort are only the first three). At the same time, I like the unexpected and the different. I thought I'd warn you anyway. x

Thank you to everyone who's read and thank you even more to everyone who has taken the time to review :o)


	5. Innocence Lost

All characters, names and places that you recognise in this story belong to JKR and most definitely not me. The story line, however, is completely my own (though the clichés' origins are debatable), and I want no part of this story posted anywhere else without my prior knowledge and permission.

xxx

_If I could heal myself_

_Where would I begin?_

_I really wish I'd had a shoulder_

_I'd try and climb from this hole I'm in_

_This is easy_

_This is easier _

_Locked in all alone here_

_Fate is in my fingertips_

_There isn't anyone that can hold me here_

_Do you think this is courage?_

_Does this make me brave?_

_It's just a consequence of the easiest choice that I've made_

_-Fingertips by Tapping The Vein_

xxx

**Diary of Severus Snape **

Tuesday 25th of November, 1997

With every passing day Miss Granger has come to look paler and more drawn. She throws herself into her work, in my classes at least, with even more determination than usual, while still picking at her food in the Great Hall. She appeared at the Prefect Meeting and played the perfect Head Girl; no one else noticed that her notebook was void of text, even after she spent most of the meeting scratching in it with her quill. The Miss Granger I have come to know and abhor is still there, but it is more of an act now than it ever was before.

If Albus or Minerva has noticed me watching her, they haven't commented, which leads me to believe they have yet to notice – it is in their very nature to remark on everything they see. Nor do they seem to have noticed the girl's decline this past week; while Miss Granger's acting skills are to be applauded, her teachers should be damned for being so blind to it.

Every day I have expected the girl to make excuses to stay behind to talk to me, to approach me once the lesson has ended to tell me she has changed her mind, that she has done further research in her much coveted Restricted Section and no longer wants to risk the danger and the pain involved in the process of extracting the First Blood. The risk of haemorrhage is still there, however adept the witch or wizard undertaking the operation is, and there is a chance that Miss Granger will not live to make her precious potion if she goes through with this. It is very unlikely she is unaware of this fact.

I don't dare to think of what reason I will have to give to Albus if she bleeds to death in my presence. _"There is a dead student in my quarters, Headmaster. Yes, I am aware that she is only half-dressed and the circumstances appear suspicious, but you see, she made me do it."_ Yes. That would be about as believable as the Dark Lord suddenly telling us that this war was all a big misunderstanding, that he actually adored the Muggleborn population and he'd like to invite them all around for tea and biscuits to make it up to them.

Miss Granger is only ever so slightly less trouble alive than she would be if found dead in my quarters. Today, she adeptly brews a perfect Blood-Replenishing Potion in record time, bringing it to my desk without raising her eyes to look at me. She doesn't flinch when her fingers touch mine as I take the vial from her, although she does briefly trap her bottom lip between her sharp white teeth in a now-familiar gesture of nervousness. Then she walks quickly back to her desk and begins the process of salvaging spare pieces of ingredients, something the rest of her classmates continuously have to be prompted to do.

She keeps herself busy, cleaning the instruments on her table by hand, sensibly not risking spell-work in a classroom full of potentially volatile potions. When she has finished and there is nothing left for her to do, she attempts to help Potter by clearing away his spare, used and mangled ingredients. The distracted rebuff is unexpected, as is the complete lack of reaction from the Gryffindor Head Girl, who instead of helping her idiot friend, decides to sit at her desk, staring into space for the remainder of the lesson.

The bell rings to signal the end of class, putting an end to my appraisal.

"Miss Granger?"

She pauses for a second, half way out of her seat, her eyes still firmly fixed on her desk. It seems to take her a moment to decide, before finally raising them to look at me.

"Yes, Professor?" she asks politely, sounding far too subdued for my liking. I don't know what I'm going to do until I find my hand already delving into my pocket and closing around the small vial hiding there.

"You mistakenly left this in my classroom yesterday," I inform her, pulling the single dose of the newly brewed Draught of Peace from my robes and holding it out to her. I had been planning on delivering this to Poppy at the end of the day, a favour she had called in, in return for giving me my space when I was recuperating last week. In the Mediwitch's case, bribery works far better than threats. Now I was going to have to take the time to bottle some more for the infernal woman upstairs, and it was entirely my own fault.

Miss Granger's eyes narrow and she lets her eyes search my face.

"I'm sure I didn't," she says, speaking slowly as if dealing with a fool, while not even glancing at the potion I am holding out to her.

My own eyes hold hers for a moment more and she frowns before taking hold of my outstretched hand, tipping it slightly to check the consistency of the liquid in the vial. Opaque, thin, watery and mottled with silver, it was immediately recognisable to the know-it-all of my seventh-year class.

She holds my hand containing the potion in hers for a moment more and looks at me from under thick lashes. From the angle I am looking at her, those lashes almost hide the dark shadows under her eyes, due completely to night after night of fretting and not sleeping. Illegal as it is for me to be giving her even this small dose without medical supervision, I know that the potion will relax her enough for her to have at least a handful of hours of uninterrupted sleep. This sized dose will also have the added benefit of being completely out of her system by the morning, well in time for it not to contaminate the First Blood I will be taking from her that evening.

"I recommend consuming the entire vial before you go to bed tonight," I murmur, highly aware that my godson, Potter and Weasley are all straining their ears to hear what I am saying to the girl.

She nods slowly. Apparently the worry and the lack of sleep haven't done much towards sharpening her wits. The hand that is still touching mine finally moves to grasp the offered potion and she silently pockets it.

"And do refrain from making the same ridiculous mistake again," I snap, just loud enough for it to reach the other students' ears as they file out of the classroom.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she responds uncharacteristically meekly, flashing me the first smile I have seen on her lips in days.

When she turns, her face is once again schooled into the tired, sad expression that she has worn all day. She is at least aware that discretion is needed without my having to explain it to her. I will give her that. And if she ever tells anyone I was kind to her, I can at least be reassured of the fact that she'd be a resident at St. Mungo's only very shortly after.

xxx

**Diary of Severus Snape **

Wednesday 26th of November, 1997

In less than three hours the Blood will be collected, Miss Granger will be lying in her bed, dosed up to the teeth with pain killing potions, which I have ready for her in my robes, and I will finally be able to relax in the knowledge that I shall not be fired for murdering a student. If I ever _was_ to be fired for such a deed, Potter would be the student I would like to sacrifice my freedom for murdering. The satisfaction would get me through those long, lonely nights in Azkaban quite easily.

I am less than happy with the task I shall be undertaking this evening. The fact that it is illegal is neither here nor there to me; I know that Granger will keep her mouth shut, and Potter is already magically bound to do the same. Neither am I overly worried that I will kill her – I have performed this process under far less controlled circumstances and I am exceptional at what I do, whether it is brewing a faultless Wolfsbane Potion or extracting ingredients from an infuriated, highly maternal Graphorn. My mind along with the steadiness and exactness of my hands are all I have that I truly value. Therefore, my doubts lie almost entirely in the fact that the girl is obviously not sure that this is what she wants to be doing.

This morning, watching her sitting in my class, I could almost see the Draught of Peace slowly leave her system. She walked into my class quietly with a small smile on her face and Potter predictably sat next to her, scowling slightly more than usual. Slowly but surely, as the lesson went on, her shoulders tensed, the dreamy smile left her face and her eyes once more became clouded with worry. This was not the confident girl who practically begged me to do this for her weeks earlier.

"Stay after class," I snap at her as I walk past her desk, not bothering to look at her as I speak.

"I have Herbology immediately after this class, sir," she tells my retreating back.

"Then you will be late."

I can practically feel the annoyance coming from her in waves; it cheers me up somewhat.

After the bell rings to signal the end of class, she stuffs her belongings into her bag, hands it to Potter and tells him to explain to Pomona. He nods curtly, and then she walks to the front of the class with small, controlled, exact steps.

"Professor?" she enquires calmly. My, she is getting better at hiding her irritation.

"You have five minutes to prove to me that this is what you want to do, or tonight I will not be helping you acquire your ingredient."

"You said you would do it!" she gasps, looking horrified. It apparently hasn't occurred to her that I might go back on my word. It seems that I should be working harder on my façade as a scheming, unscrupulous bastard. _Well, it is occasionally a façade._

"That was before you started walking around this castle looking like you are spending your nights letting vampires feed from your veins," I tell her. "Your face is pale, your eyes are shadowed, and even last night's sleep cannot hide the fact that your concentration is shattered. For weeks this was all you wanted; is the prospect not so attractive once you come close to finally having what you want?"

"I am fully prepared for the extraction," she says firmly and formally. I believe her. Then what can possibly be worrying her more than going through a potentially fatal, unbelievably painful, unfamiliar magical process?

"Please believe me."

"Your eyes tell a different tale, Miss Granger."

She looks despairing for a moment, and then forces her face into its calm mask once more. When she speaks, she forces herself to speak calmly.

"I am less worried about you taking the blood from me and more worried about the actual act of sex itself."

_Oh for fuck's sake._

"Your priorities are more than a little warped," I inform her. This is why I dislike teenagers – their priorities are never in order. She might die, but who cares about that when Potter will have to see her naked? That's the important issue here.

"I am aware of that," she tells me, exasperatedly. "But the reason behind my stress is none of your concern. It's no reason to break your promise to me."

"You forget your place, Miss Granger," I say, my voice tight. I am even more than characteristically ill-tempered today, and she should recognise this and be ducking for cover about now. Yet, there she stands, fury blatant in her eyes, even while her face forms a persuasive smile. That alone is proof that she still wants this.

"Professor, I appreciate that you never wanted to do this in the first place, but it will all be over tonight, and I will do my best to keep out of your way and not even speak to you again afterwards."

"Is this while you will once again be practically living in my laboratory the instant you again have something to work with?" I ask snidely.

She winces. "Well, yes. Apart from that, I'll keep out of your way."

I take a deep breath. "Do you love him?" I ask, fully aware that there is a nauseated look on my face as the words leave my mouth.

"What?"

"Potter," I repeat, through gritted teeth. "Do you love him?"

Her eyes widen at the question and after a moment's contemplation she nods her head slowly.

"Very much," she adds, in case I have been struck blind and didn't manage to see her head bobbing up and down.

"Then what, may I ask, is the problem?" I shouldn't be asking – it is not my concern whether or not she is comfortable with everything that will happen this evening. Not only that, but I fully understand the girl's reluctance to touch Potter – I would sooner have sexual relations with Albus while he is clad in his utterly delightful lime green underwear than ever even contemplate Potter's naked body.

"It really is none of your concern," she sighs, echoing at least some of my thoughts. She takes two steps back from me to tiredly lean on the desk behind her. "You can't possibly be interested in what's bothering me."

"No, you have me there."

Her glare is rewarding and I smirk back.

"I have been preoccupied lately because Harry has been avoiding being alone with me at all costs," the girl volunteers just as I was about to throw her out of my class room and start some of my third year marking. "He is being snappy, miserable and even quite rude to me. I had to practically emotionally blackmail him into agreeing to sleep with me tonight, and I doubt very much he is even vaguely attracted to me, which makes the thought of having to actually have sex with him that much worse."

"I thought…" I start my sentence, and then stop abruptly. I really have no wish for Miss Granger to think that I am in the remotest bit interested in any aspect of the lives of my students. I doubt very much that she would believe that Minerva has on the odd occasion had to literally curse me into submission so I will listen to her natter on about the students during our evenings together. Personally, I think Minerva, determined and in a temper, could be our secret weapon in this war – the Dark Lord would be cowering at her feet in seconds minutes after we let her loose on him.

"That Harry and I are a couple?" she asks, pulling a face and correctly assuming what I had been about to say. "Everyone has that idea."

_Well, if you will keep the boy practically chained to your bed…_ I really must stop spending time with Minerva.

"Harry has nightmares," she explains, thankfully unaware of my inner commentary. "We've never even kissed, and after his reaction to the prospect of sleeping with me, I doubt he's ever wanted to kiss me."

I sigh and consider knocking the girl out and leaving her to sleep soundly in the corner of my classroom while I get on with the rest of my day in peace. This is all my own fault – I should never have made her stay after class.

"Is Potter gay?" Now isn't that a magnificent idea? Wouldn't that be terribly amusing? Minerva, open-minded though she thinks she is, would faint at the very thought. It's a rumour I am tempted, even now, to spread and ensure it gets back to her.

"No." She then screws her nose up in contemplation. "At least, I don't think so. If he is, then he really won't be of much use to me tonight."

"If Potter is interested in women," I say, choosing to ignore her ramblings. "Then he will want to sleep with you. He is a hormonal teenaged male; you are a passably attractive female. You would have to be either Minerva McGonagall or a very close female relative for him to pass up the opportunity to have sex with you." _Possibly. Who knows what he's into if his father was anything to go by?_

She opens her mouth to speak.

"It is likely that he is merely anxious," I say before she can get her words out. "If it helps at all, tell him I won't be taking any points from Gryffindor for poor performance and will not be awarding him a grade at the end. Not to his knowledge, anyway."

It's a peculiar look on someone's face when they are incredibly embarrassed, infuriated and very amused all at the same time.

"You will be in another room," she states firmly, finally deciding to settle on being vaguely annoyed.

I nod. "As discussed."

"So you will still do it?"

She looks like she is holding her breath as she waits for my answer, as if I hold her happiness in my hands. Why isn't she out getting drunk with the rest of her class as they celebrate their new-found freedom of being in their seventh year at Hogwarts? Why does she insist on hassling me instead? The words _death wish,_ spring to mind.

"If I must."

"Thank you." Her voice is soft, and her hand is trembling as she moves it towards my face. This time I am ready for her and catch her wrist in my hand before her fingers touch my skin.

"Despite the fact that I have been forced to endure your presence outside the classroom," I all but snarl at her, anger rising to the surface quickly, "I am still your Professor, and as such will be treated with respect."

"Yes, sir," she says quietly, her eyes flashing in a sudden fury that mirrors my own. She attempts to pull her wrist from my grasp and I let my fingers tighten around it almost imperceptibly.

"What game are you playing?" I ask, voicing the question that has been bothering me for far too long. First there was the completely unexplained and inappropriate caress on Halloween night, followed by the almost, but not quite tracing of the scars on my chest. Now she is reaching to touch my face yet again. Is it gratitude? A crude and naïve attempt at bribery? Or, has all the time brewing in my laboratory produced fumes that have finally addled her brain?

"Not everything is a game," she tells me.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it is," I tell her, softly. She has a lot to learn if she is not yet aware of this very fundamental fact of life. "A painful game with sometimes fatal consequences, but a game none the less."

I let go of her wrist abruptly, an action that would have sent her stumbling back if she wasn't already inches away from against a solid, wooden desk that effectively stopped her fall.

"Eight o'clock," I say shortly. "Do not be late."

She runs from the classroom.

xxx

**Diary of Severus Snape**

Wednesday 26th of November, 1997

My life has been riddled with mistakes, taking the Dark Mark being irrefutably the largest. This is quite closely followed by both informing the Dark Lord of the Prophecy that led him to kill the Potters, and for ever being naïve enough to consider Lucius Malfoy an ally, if not a friend. I'm not sure where today's mistake ranks – one would assume it can only be below taking the Mark, but today I have my doubts.

At five minutes to eight this evening I am still setting up the large amount of paraphernalia and equipment that will be needed to ensure tonight's endeavour is a success. I am patiently waiting in the room adjoining the one where Granger and Potter will be spending the thirty seconds I am assuming it will take for him to take her, spend himself and run away from the scene of the crime.

She, of course, is early. She is standing in the doorway and watching me for a good minute before she deigns to speak.

"Hello," she greets me shyly.

I dip my head in acknowledgement of her greeting, and then carry on scanning the text of the book I have brought to assist me in this. When I have read to the end of the page, I look back up to find she is still watching me.

"I hope Potter appreciates the effort you have gone to," I murmur, taking in her physical appearance. She has scraped her unruly hair back, leaving only small tendrils to frame her face, which is accentuated with much more subtle makeup than I had the misfortune to see her blathered in on that Halloween night. Her clothes are Muggle, understated and suit her.

She pulls a face and replies, "That's if he even turns up." She checks her watch and rolls her eyes in impatience.

Some brave saviour of the Wizarding World the wonderful Mr. Potter will turn out to be if he can't even face this.

"It is still not too late to back out." Now where did those words come from? Of course it's too late to back out, I have spent the last hour charming test tubes to be unbreakable and putting together healing potions for her, not to mention the days of worry that this is the right thing to do. If she backs out now, I will throttle the chit.

"No."

"I thought not," I say regretfully. It would have been most satisfying throttling the newfound bane of my existence. If someone had told me that someone would come to irritate me more than a Potter, I would have laughed at him or her before cursing them for their stupidity.

"Hermione?" A familiar male voice drifts through to the room Miss Granger and I are occupying, and I am reminded that the boy is not very far behind his friend when competing to see who irks me the most.

"You're late, Potter," I snap, irritable at the mere presence of him in the room.

"Must be killing you that you can't take points from me," he quips, grinning at Miss Granger as if he has just said something incredibly amusing and she should be unbelievably impressed by his wit.

"Now, why do you think I won't be taking points from you?" I muse, directing a nasty smile at him. "Technique, duration…"

"Professor!" Hermione interrupts swiftly, giving me a warning look that only serves to amuse me. Upon closer inspection of her face, it would seem that she is a little amused herself, although she is attempting to hide it and almost succeeding.

"Miss Granger?" I question politely.

"If you would stay here until Harry comes to get you?"

"Certainly. If you would cast a silencing charm at your side, I would appreciate it. The mere idea of this is enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my natural life as it is."

"Then let's hope it will be a short one," Potter spits at me venomously.

"Thirty points from…"

"Harry!"

She glares reproachfully at each of us in turn, and then forcibly pushes Potter from the room I am in to the bedroom next door. As the door clicks shut, I sense another silencing spell being added to my already thick layers. You can never be too safe when it comes to your future mental health. Mine is hanging by a thread as it is.

Half an hour passes and I start to wish I had not been so thorough and prepared so I would at least have something to do while I wait. Flashes of what is happening in the room next to me persist in entering into my mind, whatever I do to keep the thoughts out.

My eyes are on the script of the book in front of me and suddenly I see her on the four poster bed, lying on her back, her mane of hair out of it's captivity and spread over the white pillow that is cushioning her head. Her body is bare, writhing and begging to be seduced.

I force the image from my mind through sheer force of will, but after a few minutes another image appears to replace it, and she is sliding her own hand between her legs and…

Enough. Enough, before I go and hand myself in to the Aurors and tell them to lock me away for my own good. Or better yet, I could hand myself over to the Healers at St. Mungo's – I could go on the ward for the incurably insane. I need a holiday.

Another ten minutes tick past slowly and I busy myself with pacing the room from end to end. Who would have thought Potter would have this kind of self-control?

There are times when I have the patience to rival a saint. I can lie in wait for my prey in the most rigid and uncomfortable position for hours; I can even go as far as to pretend to be interested in whatever Narcissa Malfoy's hideous friends are prattling on about, if I really must. Today my patience seems to be in very short supply.

It takes one single wave of my wand for me to lower her silencing charm, and all of mine and I listen intently.

_Silence. _

My hand reaches for the door and I am sure I can hear a sniff. I contemplate climbing out of the window instead of entering the room that obviously contains a crying girl. The effort it would take and the risk of being seen sways me. Maybe I can get past her without her even noticing me…

No, I still have to take the Blood from her and make this entire farce somehow worth it. Instead, I cling to the quite realistic hope that it might be Potter who is sitting in the next room crying, and I can use this information to blackmail him into keeping out of my way until the end of his days, or mine – which ever comes first.

As I push the door open, my eyes are immediately drawn to the bed against their will. Miss Granger is indeed alone, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head buried in her arms. She looks incredibly small and lost sitting in the middle of the enormous four poster bed that takes up much of the room, and I am once again reminded of how much of an imbecile Potter really is.

The black t-shirt she was wearing now lays discarded on the floor, but it seems that this is the only piece of clothing that has been removed. I lay the vials quietly on the bureau by the door – it appears that I will not need these tonight.

"What did he do?" I ask. The sound of my voice makes her jump and she looks up at me miserably, but doesn't answer.

"What did Potter do?" I ask again, moving closer to the bed.

Her hair and makeup that had been meticulously done less than an hour earlier are now completely ruined. Streaks of black outline the tear tracks that run down her cheeks, while escaped curls stick to the wet. All in all, she looks like the last forty minutes have been much more torturous than my own.

I bend to pick her clothing from the floor but quickly decide against handing it to her to put on. Those red-rimmed eyes are looking at me with a look of pure self-hatred that even still dare me to comment on the situation. What on earth could Potter have done to her in the time they were left alone together?

I try not to look directly at her, for it is now plain to see that her breasts are bared for the world to observe. The arms folded defensively over her chest barely cover her, and if I am to assess what went wrong, I am going to need to cover her up. I refuse to have this conversation with her left ear.

Instead of attempting to order her to dress, I summon a blanket with my wand and it automatically wraps around her shoulders, warming her in the rapidly cooling bedroom and covering her so my eyes can once again roam free.

"What did Potter do?" I ask again, this time more gently.

A bitter laugh escapes from her lips.

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head. "Absolutely nothing."

"I see."

The boy is far more pathetic than even I could have imagined. I can only hope the Dark Lord doesn't hear of this current weakness of his and think to send half a dozen nubile females to terrify Potter into retreating. The war would be over in seconds.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "All this preparation…"

"It doesn't matter," I answer tersely.

"He didn't even explain," she speaks into her hands. "He just backed out of the door as if I was suddenly infectious. Now what am I going to do? I can't ask Ron, and I don't know how well I could trust any of the other boys in my year with what I'm doing. It's not like any of them see me in that way anyway."

She groans into her hands and for once I am at a loss as to what to say. I could attempt to get hold of the ingredient myself, but I would be risking my freedom and life in doing so. This potion has a chance of working, but the chance is not so good that it would make such a risk worth it.

"Professor?" she asks softly, her eyes suddenly trained on me, regarding me with blazing intensity.

"Do not even consider voicing those thoughts," I warn. _Fuck._

She scrambles to her knees and shuffles towards the side of the bed that I have mistakenly chosen to sit on. I should definitely have opted to climb out of the window instead.

"It wouldn't take long," she murmurs. Oh yes, that's going to get me to bed her.

"Such flattery could turn a man's head, Miss Granger," I say mockingly.

She colours deeply, but still climbs off the bed to stand in front of me, letting the blanket fall to the floor. Her arms uncrossed, her breasts on display for me to see and the first truly improper thoughts of her enter my mind and refuse to leave, no matter what I do. She is perfect.

She reaches out her hand.

"Do not touch me!" I snap.

Obviously I have lost my touch, or she is oblivious to the venom in my voice, for the hand that should have shot back to her side at my words is suddenly resting lightly on my shoulder. Her fingers move tentatively to slide from there to the back of my neck and into my hair. Her nails scrape lightly over my scalp and I sincerely hope she doesn't notice the shiver that runs through my entire body.

"Have you completely lost your mind, Granger?" I grind out. "The blood cannot be _this_ important to you."

"Please." The word is husky, pleading, and is almost my undoing.

I shoot to my feet, almost knocking the girl off her own. I am out of the door before she has chance to utter another word and I effectively squash the small modicum of guilt I am feeling. I have to get out of this castle, away from her and away from my life, if only for a few hours. Unfortunately, I doubt Albus would pay for me to have a nice little holiday half way through the term, so instead I settle for walking straight out of the Castle and towards Hogsmede in search of drink.

xxx

**Draycott Hotel, London**

"So, when you say that Snape took one look at you and ran, what really happened was…?"

Hermione cringed visibly. "If you keep interrupting we'll never get to the end of these diaries."

"Nevermind that!" Ginny exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Sweet and innocent Hermione Granger; sweet, innocent and _rule abiding_ Hermione Granger, propositioned a teacher while she was still a student? You practically sexually harassed the bloke! Oh, this is fantastic…"

"I'm glad you find my life so amusing," Hermione said sourly. "And you wonder why I never confided in you about it all?"

Ginny sobered quickly and put her hand on Hermione's arm. "Look, Hermione, I'm sorry," she said soothingly. "I know I'm being a bit of a cow, but I really am trying to understand. You have to see how much of a shock this is to me, it's like there's a whole new you now and I have to work out how to talk to you again."

"I'm the same person I always was," Hermione said. "That's what no one ever understood. I haven't been sweet and innocent since I first started Hogwarts. The safe haven it was meant to represent protected none of us from the real world, Ginny, not one of us."

She pushed the diary away to turn to Ginny.

"Most schools protect you in some way from the world outside, while preparing you for the real world. Well, our school prepared us – it prepared us for war. We were soldiers from the moment a wand was placed in our hands, when we first realised that there was evil in the world. No one stays innocent in a war – you of all people should know that."

Ginny nodded slowly. "But you were always the level-headed one. You weren't innocent, but you have to admit you followed the rules to a fault."

"What choice did I have? Everyone else around me was wild, and they all just assumed I would be the responsible one, picking up the pieces, doing their homework, getting them out of the fixes they'd got themselves into. I don't mean you, Ginny, don't give me that look."

"So you rebelled? Went off the rails in the biggest way you could?" Ginny asked. "And for you, what bigger way was there than the ultimate taboo of fucking a teacher?"

"No, it wasn't like that at all," Hermione sighed. "There's a part of this diary that I was going to skip over, but I think if you're going to understand how I am now, you probably need to know. It was never simple between Severus and I – it was never just a case of one of us fancying the other and we immediately threw our ethics out of the window and leapt into bed together. Things happened, Ginny."

"The attack on your family, you mean?" Ginny asked. "Made you want to cling to someone?"

"No," Hermione denied, shaking her head. "Well, I suppose that added to everything. But it all started long before that."

"What are you talking about?"

xxx

Author's Notes: I just wanted to take a moment to thank my fantastic beta, **Sophi,** for being incredibly patient, and I want to thank all the people who have been leaving such lovely reviews – I've been checking for them obsessively.

I am aware that I'm making Harry out to be incredibly irritating, but the chapter is mostly written from Snape's point of view, so it can't be helped.

This chapter has been spilt into two because I couldn't subject either Sophi or the readers to a 12,000-word chapter without offering some intense counselling after. The huge mistake Snape makes is not explained until the next half is posted, which will be soon. Reviews aplenty may make it appear even faster ;o)


	6. Unforgiven

All characters, names and places that you recognise in this story belong to JKR and most definitely not me. The story line, however, is completely my own (though the clichés' origins are debatable), and I want no part of this story posted anywhere else without my prior knowledge and permission.

_xxx_

_I think you are not my friend  
I think you're not on my side  
I think I was far to blind  
I think I made a mistake _

You call me a traitor  
But you are a snake  
An eye for an eye  
And a tooth for a tooth

I think you are in too deep  
I think you're not what you seem  
I think I have been a fool  
I think I should take more care

You try to sneak behind my back  
But trust can not be stolen  
Friendship must be earned and affection's not for sale  
I know you want respect  
But contempt is all you get from me  
We are forever unforgiven

_-Unforgiven by Covenant_

_xxx_

**Diary of Severus Snape**

Wednesday 26th of November, 1997

Less than ten minutes after leaving the castle I am nursing my first glass of Rosmerta's secret stash of 40 year old Scotch, saved usually for Albus on one of his infrequent visits to The Three Broomsticks. My mind is in too much turmoil to give the drink the attention it rightly deserves and I try very hard not to dwell on what has got me so rattled. Instead, I pray for distraction, and as always, my prayers are answered with irony.

"Severus."

_No. Fuck, no. _All the things I have done that deserve punishment, I doubt I deserve quite _this_ amount.

I lift my gaze from the incredibly expensive amber liquid in my glass to the gleeful smirk on Lucius Malfoy's face.

"Lucius," I greet with a nod of my head. I knew I should have just taken a large dose of Dreamless Sleep and stayed in my quarters for the rest of the term.

"Been allowed out to play, Severus?" he asks, his posh inbreeding evident in his voice as always. "Surely you can afford somewhere more tasteful than this? Even on that awful teacher's salary of yours…"

Rosmerta busies herself with restocking her shelves, pretending not to hear. She is much more sensitive to insults than a woman who spends her days and nights in a pub full of drunken louts should ever be.

"Is there some reason for your visit?" I ask, downing what is left in my glass and throwing Rosmerta a grateful look as she immediately saunters over to refill my glass before going back over to the other side of the bar.

"Isn't visiting old friends enough of a reason?" Lucius asks, his eyes narrowing in irritation at being blatantly ignored by Rosmerta.

"No," I reply. I swirl the liquid around my glass and take another large mouthful, enjoying the burning sensation as it slides down my throat. It is sacrilege to waste this Whisky like this, not to mention expensive. I also don't have to remind myself that it is exceedingly dangerous to allow myself to drink in the presence of Lucius Malfoy, whose ulterior motives are as yet unknown but are undoubtedly there.

I order a drink for Lucius despite the audaciously rude face Rosmerta dares to pull at me when Lucius turns his back. Lucius predictably turns his nose up at the drink but sips it delicately anyway, throwing me a look that is meant to convey to me that I should be grateful he is refraining from making a scene.

"Our Lord is becoming impatient, Severus," he tells me in a discreet undertone, looking disdainfully over his glass at the other people in the pub as he does. "You are in a better position than all of us, yet your information is barely useful."

"My position at Hogwarts is precarious at best," I tell him, resisting the urge to just walk out and leave him sitting there. The only thing stopping me is the fact that I do not under any circumstances want Lucius following me back to the school in an attempt to finish his little _chat_ with me.

"So you keep saying," Lucius tells me, affecting a bored tone. "If it wasn't for your apparent _expertise_ in the art of Potion making, I think it is very unlikely that our Lord would keep you alive."

It strikes me that, on some level, my cutting words and tone must have been learnt from Lucius. When he took me under his wing after I ran from my father, when he helped me carry out my first and only premeditated and calculated murder, I had looked up to him. Young, alone and full of anger, he tried his hardest to mould me to his will, and in doing so passed on the only trait of his I have ever found useful. Only he and I can utter the word '_expertise_' with such distain.

"The Dark Lord is in possession of each and every piece of information I have been privy to," I tell him. "It is his choice, not mine, to act on only some of that knowledge."

He makes a disbelieving noise that is almost undignified and I am reminded of the very few occasions I have seen this man with his guard down. In the small number of times Lucius has let himself be human, he has shown himself to be almost likable. Unfortunately, even under the arrogance, he is still sadistic, power-hungry and still looking for ways to betray you; enviable qualities in a Slytherin, almost fatal qualities in a '_friend_.'

"If you have concerns, Lucius, why not take them up with the Dark Lord?" I murmur. Rosmerta is standing too near for us to be having this conversation.

Lucius is as aware as I am of the dangers of questioning the Dark Lord, and according to my godson, Lucius, too, was tortured on that night I allowed Miss Granger to nurse me. I smirk inwardly as a fearful and irritated look passes over Lucius' too perfect features.

I attract Rosmerta's attention with nothing more than a look, which proves she is intent on me, if not on the conversation I am participating in. At a dip of my head she fills my glass once again and winks at me.

"Thank you," I say, with a narrowing of the eyes that should have warned her to disappear to the other end of the bar until I had gone.

"Another for you, too, Mr. Malfoy?" she asks with a smile that is almost convincing as she ignores my silent caution.

He doesn't answer but slides his glass towards her. She fills it up and then takes no more than two steps away from us. This irritates me – playful and amusing she may sometimes be, but she knows what kind of men both Lucius and I are, and if she hears too much, she is in danger of being murdered in her bed tonight.

I drink my Whisky quickly, feeling the alcohol warming me and taking the edge off my thoughts. One more drink and I will probably leave here just about drunk enough to not be picturing the hurt and desolate look on Miss Granger's face as I left her this evening. No amount of alcohol, however, is going to stop me picturing her perfect breasts every time I close my eyes.

I put my glass back onto the bar with more than the necessary force. Before I can snap at Lucius to get on with whatever it is that he came for so I can go back to having some peace and quiet, I feel a tickling pressure at the front of my mind. Lucius is unwisely trying to look into my thoughts, possibly assuming that the alcohol has weakened my defences. I am more than tempted to expel him from my mind with enough pressure to send him flying across the room, in front of all these people he considers so beneath him. I'm sure a good many of them would be only too delighted to see Lucius Malfoy land on his arrogant arse.

Tempting as this is, instead I break the connection effortlessly and shake my head mockingly at him. The look, unfortunately, is completely lost on him as his attention is focused on something just over my shoulder. I turn to see what has managed to capture his attention so effectively, and my heart sinks.

"Well, well, if it isn't Miss Granger," Lucius drawls, eyeing her from the top of her now untidy head to the tips of her booted toes with a look I recognise and instantly wish to shield her from. She is wearing the exact same clothes that she was wearing for Potter, apparently not taking the time to do more than pull her t-shirt back on in her pursuit of me. The goose pimples on her skin are testament to the fact that it is almost winter, and only a complete imbecile would venture outside without a coat.

Despite her chattering teeth and state of dishevelment, she looks even more appealing than she did before, though it was still glaringly apparent that the girl had been crying. She is looking between Lucius and I with a look of apprehension on her face. It is obvious, to me at least, that she has come in search of me. I am now aware that I have to force her to retreat back to the safety of Hogwarts before I am responsible for her capture, rape and imminent death. I know Lucius.

"Would you care for a drink?" Lucius offers cordially, an insincere smile forming on his lips. "A shot of Firewhisky, a Butterbeer, perhaps?"

"I don't think so," she says with a smile that is equally as insincere. She, conversely, doesn't attempt to hide the fact.

"Nonsense, Miss Granger," Lucius says, his eyes on the swell of her breasts. I follow his gaze and realise that the cold has done very little to preserve Miss Granger's modesty.

"Leave her be, Lucius," I say as neutrally as I can. I turn back to the bar to pick up my drink, and when I turn around the obtuse girl is still standing there, watching me.

"Severus' bark is much worse than his bite," Lucius informs her smoothly, never taking his eyes from hers.

"It really isn't," I inform the girl shortly.

"That I believe," she mutters, sending me a dark look. I raise my eyebrows at her and Lucius laughs delightedly.

"Go back to school, Miss Granger," I snap, slamming my glass back onto the bar. "Or I will have you scrubbing cauldrons from now until you graduate."

She looks far less intimidated than she should, and she evidently has no idea of the precarious situation she is currently in.

"Ignore him," Lucius says. As if she _needs_ an invitation to do that - she is already blatantly ignoring me. "Let me buy you both a drink. Severus might even loosen up, given enough of this stomach rotting stuff he seems to enjoy indulging in."

Miss Granger shoots me a look that says quite clearly that she doubts any amount of alcohol will loosen me up. If the situation wasn't so serious, I'd be tempted to walk out and leave her to the dubious charms of Lucius Malfoy.

"She certainly is fiery, Severus," he observes, amused. "You never mentioned she had such spirit."

"I never mentioned her at all," I retort. Why is she still standing there? It's not like I can offer to walk her safely back to school – with Lucius around, my protection would be worth very little. I have a role that must be played, and if Lucius' was the only pair of eyes on us, I would be just as dangerous as he.

"My son tells me you are very adept at everything you choose to do," Lucius says, addressing Miss Granger once more. "Why don't you sit down for a while and we can discuss your future aspirations? I have a lot of contacts in the Ministry that could be very useful to you once you graduate."

She opens her mouth to respond, and then her eyes look up uncertainly at me. I narrow my eyes at her in a clear warning, and unlike Rosmerta, she understands immediately and shakes her head in mock regret. The distaste is evident in her eyes, and a charmer Lucius may be, but whatever dealings Miss Granger has had with him in the past have certainly left a lasting impression.

"I appreciate the offer," she lies smoothly. "But no, thank you. I only came in here because I became separated from my friends. I'll try The Hog's Head instead – they've probably gone there."

She turns and walks towards the door, then at the last minute she looks over her shoulder.

"Goodnight, sir," she says softly, tenderly and unforgivably. Lucius' suspicious eyes are on me in question before the door has even swung shut.

"Well, well, Severus," he murmurs mockingly. "I never would have expected it from you. Has the Dark Lord heard of this _interesting_ development?"

"There _is_ no development, Lucius."

This is not going to work. Lucius is no fool, and convincing as the girl was, there is little chance that he believes she is here with her friends. He may not be pursuing her across the hills to the castle, but if I cannot convince him I have no hold over the girl, he won't need to.

What possessed the girl to come to find me? Nothing could have been so urgent that it could not have waited until the morning. It really does seem that Gryffindor stupidity knows no bounds - The Hog's Head, indeed.

"She certainly came here tonight looking to speak to you," he says with a short laugh. "Come now, Severus, don't deny it. I'm proud of you, and I'm sure the Dark Lord will be thrilled, although as he knows everything you know, I doubt I'll need to tell him, will I?"

"My tastes are far less… dirty," I murmur, disgust at the very thought evident in my voice.

"Come on, Severus. Do you really expect me to believe you're not fucking her? Credit me with some intelligence – I have eyes in my head."

"Credit me with some taste, Lucius," I snarl, rounding on him, my hand closing tightly around the wand in my pocket. "Drop the subject before I am forced to make a scene."

When he simply shrugs indifferently I cannot decide whether my relief outweighs my shock. I decide not to look a gift-horse in the mouth and bluntly change the subject.

"How is Narcissa?" I ask politely. I am actually interested, but for all the attention Lucius pays his wife, I could be asking their family owl instead, as he would be about as knowledgeable.

"My, my, she _has_ grown up, hasn't she?" he murmurs distractedly.

I sigh. "Narcissa?" I ask pointedly.

He laughs, a harsh sound that startles the nearby patrons and makes Rosmerta look over at us with an undisguised wary look on her face. Yes, an amused Lucius Malfoy is certainly something to be wary of.

"Narcissa is as unbalanced, hysterical and naïve, as she always is," Lucius tells me without remorse for the harsh words his is speaking about his _beloved._ "And just as beautiful. She feels that you have been avoiding us lately, though I keep reassuring her that you are still our friend. Are you, Severus?"

"One of your oldest, Lucius," I affirm. "Give Narcissa my apologies; I have been unfeasibly busy lately."

"Of course."

He doesn't believe me, and I am inclined not to care.

"The Mudblood would be the perfect pet for the nights Narcissa has one of her headaches…" he muses softly, looking towards the doorway of the pub as if she is still standing there.

The anger inside me reaches a boiling point as it arrives abruptly and refuses to leave. I attempt to drown it with more alcohol and resolutely ignore Lucius as he stares into the distance lost in contemplation.

"Innocent, yet intense and spirited," he says to himself. "All the more fun to break."

"Still lowering yourself to fucking Mudbloods," I challenge in an undertone. "Go home to your wife, Lucius, and leave the children be. This is getting tiresome."

The pub is filling up and the noise is starting to get almost as irritating as the company I am being forced to keep. When Lucius leans closer to whisper conspiratorially in my ear, I am forced to suppress a shudder of revulsion as his lips brush my ear. He makes my skin crawl more now than he did in the early days of our _friendship_.

"Don't tell me you've never been tempted," he breathes into my ear. "I wouldn't believe you, my friend."

"My tastes differ from yours, Lucius," I sneer at him. "I like my partners to be willing and at least of age."

My words would be more effective if I hadn't had to attempt to banish all thoughts of Hermione Granger from my head for almost the entire time I had been sitting in this drinking establishment. The image of her standing in front of me, topless and offering herself to me on a plate is really playing havoc with my sense of self. I am not someone who takes advantage of students, I barely even _tolerate_ my students. I have to get her out of my head before she drives me to an even earlier grave than I already anticipate.

Lucius, seemingly unaware of my inner torment, pushes away the free drink Rosmerta has placed in front of him and frowns in the direction of the exit.

"I think it's about time I pay my wife some attention," he drawls, his eyes glinting. I mentally calculate how long it's been since Miss Granger had left and how long it would take Lucius to catch her up. No, she would be safely inside the castle by now.

"Give her my regards, Lucius," I say deliberately sounding bored.

I turn to catch Rosmerta's eye and she smiles and fills my glass, winking at me as she turns back to a conversation she had been having with a witch I don't recognise.

Lucius is gone before I have turned back from the bar with my drink in my hand. A minute or so after he leaves, Rosmerta breaks off her conversation with the blonde witch and walks back towards me.

"The company you keep is terrible, Severus," she says, laughing. She laughs more than any person I have ever met, and that includes Albus when he's had a skinful. I would find this irritating, but she is, at the very least, a change from the rest of the people I meet, who are all innately miserable. Then again, that could just be a consequence of them being in my company; I sincerely hope so.

"Unfortunately, I do not always select my own company," I tell her. If I did select my company, ninety-nine out of a hundred times I'd choose not to have any at all; I decide not to relay this fact to her.

"I do hope he doesn't give Hermione any trouble," she says, suddenly uncharacteristically serious and earnest. "He did seem a bit preoccupied with her when she was peeping in before."

My alcohol filled brain takes a moment to process her words and dread fills me before I even realise what it is that is wrong.

"Peeping in?"

"Yes," Rosmerta confirmed. "She kept looking through that window. I think she was looking at you, actually Severus."

I am off my stool before she has finished her sentence and am striding out of the door. All my years as a spy and double agent – how did I not notice her?

The streets of Hogsmeade are unusually empty, but I know she has been here. I turn, scanning the streets for any sign of either Lucius or her. Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of a flurry of school robes that I recognise far too clearly, and then there is nothing more; no sounds except the distant laughter of people in the pubs around Hogsmeade; nothing to see in the moonlight except the cobbled streets, houses and shops. She is gone.

That is the last time I saw her, and apparently the last time anyone saw her. Potter, of course, blames himself. Minerva, I can tell, blames me; although I am assured she only knows the sketchy outlines of my involvement in the situation prior to the girl's disappearance. Albus, however, now knows the entire story. I am expecting to be relieved of my position in the school at any moment, and I can't bring myself to care.

The papers claim she has run away. Her parents are distraught and the Weasley boy has taken to standing on the Astronomy Tower with a pair of Quidditch Omnioculars.

She has been kidnapped; I know who by and I know exactly where she will be, but there is nothing I can do about it. I am about to drink myself into oblivion where I can pretend I don't care and that I'm not inches away from giving up on everything, including my own life. I don't want to be here anymore – I don't want to do this anymore. I'm so utterly tired of all this.

_xxx_

**Draycott Hotel, London**

"God, Hermione."

"Just keep reading."

_xxx_

**Diary of Severus Snape**

Thursday, 27th of November, 1997

I have come out of the other side of my apathy, helped by a handful of hangover potions and a large amount of Pepper Up, a potion I always refuse to down while I am in the infirmary – Poppy gets far too much amusement out of the steam pouring from my ears – and now every fibre of my being is burning for revenge.

I know what will be happening to her. I have felt how she will be feeling, the terror, the despair, the loneliness and humiliation. I can't let her go through all this because of yet another of my mistakes. And it _is_ because of me that she has been taken by him; she came to talk to me, she sought me out and I ignored her and left her to the not-so-tender mercies of Lucius Malfoy, a man who surpasses even Macnair in his flair for cruelty and torture.

Albus has spent this entire day periodically checking on me. He advises me to practice restraint. If I turn up at Malfoy Manor, my wand blazing, I could be responsible for her immediate death, yet I cannot just sit in my quarters and do nothing. I consumed enough alcohol last night that the mere thought of drinking more today makes my stomach turn, and alcohol is the only thing that will dull my senses enough to stop me from going to the Manor now. It is the only thing that could promise me some relief from my tortured thoughts.

This morning I was sent an invitation, done in the usual ostentatious, flamboyant Malfoy way, to Draco's annual birthday celebration. This year he will be coming of age and the invitation says to expect something fitting to the occasion, which translated means that Miss Granger and a handful of others will be the entertainment for the evening.

Subtlety, in this case, does not seem to be Lucius' strong point. He is effectively saying, _I have the girl and am going to torture her in front of your eyes._ And I will not play his games – I am no longer a child seeking approval and revenge; I am more powerful than he ever dreamed I would be when he first brought me to his Lord, and I am tired of restrict constraining that power.

Albus' warnings and doubts are ringing in my ears. Will Lucius be planning on handing the girl over to the Dark Lord? Or will he be blinded by lust and his addiction to tormenting me, and fail to see her usefulness? I somehow doubt that even Lucius could be that blind. All I am truly sure of is that I must get her out of there. I have to save her from my own fate.

_xxx_

**Draycott Hotel, London**

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Ginny murmured, reaching her hand out to touch her friend's arm, before seeming to think better of it and pulling it back. "None of us knew, or even suspected. You told us all it had been a huge misunderstanding, that the pressure of all those exams had got on top of you and you were visiting family for a break. You actually _apologised_ for upsetting us by not letting anyone know! I can't believe I believed you of all people would be so irresponsible. God, Hermione, why didn't you tell us?"

"The pressure _was_ getting to me," Hermione argued. "You know what I'm like about exams. My excuse was more than believable. You weren't to know."

"But how could you not tell us where you'd been? What had happened?"

"You know I'm a private person, Ginny," Hermione said quietly, leaning her head in her hands so she didn't have to look at her friend. "I never talked about my own problems, and I was sure I could deal with it on my own. I thought I could, anyway."

"Past tense? So things changed? You did talk to someone?" Ginny's fingers were plucking nervously at the bedspread as she watched Hermione carefully, as if after all this time she was about to fall apart in front of her.

Hermione looked up from her hands and watched Ginny pick at the covers. She sighed softly.

"Think about how it was when we were that age, Ginny," she said. "You were sixteen, I had just turned eighteen; everything was so intense then. Harry was trying to come to terms with the very real possibility that he might not live to see another year – I was there for most of his nightmares, so I knew how he was suffering."

Ginny nodded mutely.

"Ron was in the middle of that ridiculous secret affair with Katie Bell and was barely aware that the world was still turning. Even you were caught up in your own secrets and problems at the time. I didn't have many friends then, although the ones I had were amazing, everyone had their own lives, their own struggles."

"You can't blame us, Hermione," Ginny said softly, as if she were afraid of upsetting her friend, which she undoubtedly was. "You didn't even try to talk to us or let us in. You know we'd have dropped everything to look after you and get you through the aftermath of that. I was kidnapped by Tom for Merlin's sake; didn't you think that I at least would understand?"

"I know you would have been there for me," Hermione said, grabbing Ginny's hand that was still plucking at the covers and holding it in her own, mostly to stop her wrecking the bed sheets, which would then be added to her bill at the end of her stay.

"I'm not blaming you, or Ron and Harry," she denied. "I'm not like you, Ginny. My parents are, were…"

"I think I can guess that much – I have met your mum," Ginny said with a slight smile. "I can guess how it was for you growing up."

"Before dad was murdered, they were both so much worse than mum is now," Hermione said, letting go of Ginny's hand to take a deep drink of her wine. "Mum and I are so much closer now, and we understand each other finally. My parents always loved and supported me, but I was never encouraged to be at all emotional. If any of us were upset or worried, we were very sensible, very strong and handled it alone, or at the very least _with_ help, but _without _emotion. Your family is so different compared to mine."

"Well that's why you're with Harry, isn't it?" Ginny said, encouragingly. "You've got a family of your own now and you can turn it into anything you want."

"Do you really think Harry's that perfect?" Hermione asked. "He's the best friend any girl could ask for, but as a husband, do you think he would be what you would want? Do you really think he would be the knight in shining armour everyone thinks he is?"

"I really do think Harry is that perfect," Ginny replied. "He has flaws, like any man, but they are outnumbered by his good points. Are you telling me Snape is so much better?"

"Severus is just as flawed as I am," Hermione answered, softly. She turned away from where she had been studying her glass of wine to look at Ginny.

"Are you still in love with Harry?" she asked, bluntly.

"No, of course not," Ginny said steadily, holding Hermione's gaze. "But God, Hermione, he has to be better than Snape, whatever is wrong with him! And you have a kid with Harry! You have to think about Nicole."

"I _am _thinking about Nicole," Hermione said. "And I do know that she'd grow up happy with Harry and I as her family. She also adores Severus."

Shock plainly written on her face, Ginny opened her mouth to speak and then closed her mouth again. She groaned into her own hands.

"What happened to you? I used to think that life for you was so simple – how did you manage to hide it all from us for so long? You were gone for five days! All that time with that Slytherin bastard and anything could have happened. Did Malfoy hurt you, Hermione?"

"What do you think?" Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Of course he hurt me; you know that he raped and tortured Severus, do you really think that with me he'd say,_ 'Welcome to my home, Hermione, we've prepared the guest room for you. Care for some tea and biscuits?'_"

Ginny snorted in bleak amusement.

"He raped you?"

"No," Hermione answered, looking away from her friend. "He was going to give me to Draco for that as a birthday present, so that he could. You can imagine how thrilled Draco was at that prospect."

"I'm hoping, not very?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"Draco is a complete wanker at times, but you know that a good percentage of the crappy things he has done have been done in an incredibly misguided attempt at to please his father. He was horrified. He said something along the lines of, _'No offence, Granger, but I just don't fancy you.'_"

"That's lovely. So this party that Snape was going to was Draco's birthday party?" Ginny asked. "Did Snape manage to get you out before anything horrible happened to you?"

"Ginny, plenty of horrible things happened – rape isn't always the worst case scenario when it comes to people like Lucius Malfoy. When I realised he'd noticed me watching Severus, I started walking back up to the school as quickly as I could, but by then it was too late."

"Why on earth were you watching him in the first place? Watching Snape get drunk isn't my idea of a fun evening – and the amount he drinks, does he have a problem?"

Hermione looked pointedly at the nearly empty bottle of wine next to them.

"If you can't bring yourself to use his first name, then at least remember that he is still a Professor – it's _Professor _Snape."

"Fine, _Professor _Snape then," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I think there are probably some more important issues here, Hermione."

"I was upset because Harry had pretty much been revolted by the thought of touching me," Hermione continued, ignoring her friend. "I needed to find out if Severus would still take the blood from me at another time. If he had refused to I was going to attempt to get him drunk and talk him into taking my virginity, with the aide of a lust potion if needs be. Then he could have collected the blood and it would all be over with."

"Were you insane?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"Possibly, yes," Hermione answered. "But I was desperate, and don't forget that I never found Severus repulsive, like the rest of you did. After those weeks working with him at the start of that term, I'd gotten a little bit addicted to his presence. He gets so absorbed in anything he does; when he's brewing a potion, nothing exists outside of that. He is intense, focused and _brilliant_. Can you imagine all that being focused on you? It's breathtaking. And to have someone so controlled and restrained fall apart as you touch them…"

"Alright, alright," Ginny interrupted, pulling a face. "I get it, I do. What I don't get is how you could have wanted to cheat on Harry to do that. He'd have come round in the end. He fancies you now."

"Harry and I weren't together," Hermione said, almost succeeding in hiding her irritation at having to repeat it again. "You know we weren't. Harry and I weren't officially boyfriend and girlfriend until a while after that, and even then, it wasn't as simple as it seemed to everyone else."

"You and Harry were always going to get together. From fifth year we could all see it, it was only a matter of time."

"So people kept telling me," Hermione answered shortly.

"What happened to you in Hogsmeade? You were spying on Snape and waiting for Malfoy to leave? Then Malfoy came out, found you and Apparated away with you?"

"Pretty much, yes," Hermione said with a carefully casual shrug. "When I'd realised that Malfoy had seen me, I headed towards the school with my wand clasped tightly in my hand. Remus had taught me to be on my guard, and with a Malfoy around, I most definitely _was_. I didn't expect an Apparition from him – how could he have known exactly where I was?"

"You can do that, too," Ginny interrupted. "You've been finding us through Apparation for years, Hermione."

"_After_ Severus taught me how," Hermione said, nodding. "I wasn't even aware it was possible. Nothing I had read had suggested that that kind of Apparition even existed, until then."

"I was running, and suddenly he was standing there in front of me," Hermione continued. "He was blocking my path, and calmly ordering him to stand aside wasn't going to work. I tried to run back to Hogsmede; it wasn't far away. If I'd have been in a calmer frame of mind I'd have tried Apparating there myself, but if I'd have tried that, part of me would have probably ended up in Wales instead."

Ginny nodded.

"He needlessly chased me all the way back to Hogsmeade," Hermione said. "Taunting me the entire way, barely out of breath while I was ready to drop. I had almost managed to make it back to The Three Broomsticks, to where I knew Severus was and would have had to help me, or Rosmerta, or _someone_. But by then he'd got bored of chasing me and had finally resorted to stunning me."

"When I woke up, I was in complete darkness. It was terrifying. It took me a long time to dare to move at all, let alone explore my prison. When I finally dared to explore, I was feeling along the walls when my hand touched someone's face."

"Someone else was in there with you?" Ginny asked, watching Hermione closely. Her friend had curled in on herself, her knees pulled up to her chest defensively and Ginny was having to force herself not to reach out and hold Hermione. That wasn't how her friend worked when she was in distress, and it wouldn't help.

Hermione swallowed hard and started to speak, then stopped. She buried her head in her hands, and when she finally spoke, her voice was muffled by her fingers.

"The face," she said, trying to steady her voice. "The skin… it was cold."

"Cold?" Ginny asked, icy horror filling her as she digested Hermione's words.

"They were dead," Hermione said. "_She _was dead. I was in a pitch-black cell, with a dead body. My screams could probably be heard about eight hundred floors up in Draco's bedroom."

A comforting hand touched Hermione's shoulder tentatively, and when she didn't push Ginny away, Ginny let it stay there.

"Have you explored Malfoy Manor?" Hermione asked with an inappropriate and slightly hysterical laugh. "It's bloody huge. There are rooms even Draco has never been in. I was left alone for what could have been either hours or days, and when Lucius finally deigned to visit me with a lamp in his hand, the light hurt my eyes so much that I could barely open them."

She took a deep breath and Ginny's hand tightened on her shoulder.

"Lucius stripped me, touched me, and when I wouldn't answer his questions, he beat me with that fucking cane of his."

"I was only there five days," Hermione said into her hands. "Draco snuck down, fed me healing potions and whatever food I could keep down – I took potions from Draco Malfoy without even bothering to sniff them first; I was so sure I would die in there like that other girl had."

"On my second day there, Draco told me that Severus had been to try to get me out. _Uncle Severus _he called him. I didn't know whether to despair because his attempt to save me had failed, or rejoice because that meant that the right people knew where I was. And despite what anyone thinks of Severus, he is one of the right people, Ginny."

"I know, Hermione," Ginny whispered, sliding her arm around her friend's shoulders and pulling her close. "I know he is."

"On my fourth day there," Hermione continued, not moving from her bent position, but also not pushing Ginny away, "during a beating from Lucius, he was ranting at me, telling me what would happen to me. He said he was going to force Severus to take my '_precious_' virginity, and then when I was begging to die, Lucius would take me to Voldemort for him to rape me too."

"Jesus, Hermione."

"I wasn't a toy for Draco anymore," Hermione said. "I was to be a punishment for Severus. Whatever had gone on when Severus had tried to get me out of there, he'd pissed Lucius off royally."

Ginny wrapped her other arm around Hermione and Hermione finally uncurled herself to fling herself into her friend's arms. Sobs wracking her body, Hermione cried on Ginny for the first time since the girls had become friends.

_xxx_

**Diary of Severus Snape**

Friday, 28th November, 1997

Malfoy Manor never changes, the stench of wealth mixes with the stench of death and torture to make a truly unique stench. How the authorities never find anything is beyond me – I assume Lucius pays them all off. I should have slipped him a nicely undetectable poison years ago. If I kill him now, the Dark Lord will know and undoubtedly kill me, but upon reflection, I think it may actually be worth it.

"Severus, what a _delightful_ surprise," he greets me like a long lost friend, kissing me on each cheek like he hasn't seen me in years. I have the urge to scrub my skin where his lips have touched it. Or punch him in a frighteningly Muggle manner.

"Where is she, Lucius?" I hiss, coming straight to the point. There is nothing Lucius hates more than his subtle mind games being ruined with Gryffindor bluntness, and this is the one time I haven't the patience to play his games.

"Narcissa? Oh she's here somewhere, I daresay. Shall I fetch her for you?"

"The girl, Lucius. Tell me where she is and I won't kill you." My wand is at his throat before he has time to open his mouth to respond. I can feel his pulse at the very tip, fluttering against it and if I push any harder, I'll cut off his oxygen supply, with or without a nice constricting hex. Only the thought that in doing so I will sentence the Granger girl to death stops me from moving my wand the extra few centimetres to complete the task.

"Really, Severus," Lucius reprimands me lightly, as if I don't currently hold his life in my hands. "I have always told you to never get attached to your pets. A Mudblood and a Gryffindor, and you are prepared to die for her… it's really quite _touching_. And here I believed you all these years when you claimed you weren't fucking the students. Now Miss Parkinson, there's a girl worth losing your job over…"

"I don't have time for games." I dig the wand deeper, making him wince – for Lucius, this is as close as you get to having him screaming in pain.

"Neither do I, old friend, which is why you'll have to excuse me; I'm preparing for a party – Draco's coming of age. Of course, you are invited – I know Narcissa would never have forgotten to owl your invitation to you. You can be my guest of honour, Severus."

"Do I have to _Imperio_ you to make you take me to her, Lucius?" I snarl.

"Is our Lord aware that you have become so attached to Potter's girlfriend, Severus?"

A curse – either the Imperius or Killing Curse is about to leave my wand when out of the corner of my eye, a shock of white-blonde hair draws my attention away from the unholy wizard I currently hold captive. Draco is shaking his head, almost imperceptibly. His eyes wide and locked with mine, he is inviting me to read his mind in an offer of trust I have very rarely witnessed from the boy.

I see a girl, naked, filthy and terrified. I see the wretched look on her face, the goose pimples on her skin, and I feel an intense feeling of helplessness; whether it is Draco's or mine is debatable. I also see the complex, irreversible warding on the door to the dungeons that will not let me follow Lucius to Hermione Granger.

There is next to no chance of my being able to keep the Imperius Curse on a wizard as powerful as Lucius once he is out of my sight. I could threaten to kill Draco, but this is going a little too far if I want to be of any more use in this war – as it is, I have no doubt that my actions will be reported to the Dark Lord, which will only serve to heighten his suspicions of me.

'_Let her out, Draco. Now,' _I speak into Draco's mind. Perhaps if I can hold Lucius' attention for long enough, the boy can get her out without being detected.

My Godson he may be, but even I have to admit that Draco's cowardice is appalling, considering the years I have been his mentor. He shakes his head and before I can attempt to us the Imperius Curse on Draco, he strides out of sight, into one of the many rooms that lead off from the hallway. _Coward._

I growl in frustration, release Lucius and take a swift step back, my wand still trained on him. I contemplate torturing him until he fetches the girl, or just torturing him for the hell of it, and restrain myself with difficulty.

The object of my detestation takes a step back himself and calmly straightens his collar. His grey eyes glint at me dangerously, the only outward sign that he has been at all perturbed by my visit.

"I will have someone show you out now, Severus," he says coldly. "But do come to Draco's party on Tuesday – you'll want to say goodbye to the Mudblood bitch before I hand her over to the Dark Lord, I'm sure."

I walk out before I kill him. His harsh laughter is the last thing I hear as I exit the manor that I once envied Lucius having, but now I detest with all my soul.

All this is why I am sitting here now, waiting for the rest of the Order to arrive at Grimmauld Place, so we can attempt to formulate a rescue plan. Lupin, of course, wants to go there now, fifty Aurors to back us up, and storm the place. Only the fact that Hermione Granger would be dead and eviscerated in seconds is stopping him from doing that right now. He at least practices more restraint than I.

Earlier Minerva asked me for reassurance – she wanted to know that Lucius wouldn't want to kill her favourite student. I can easily reassure her of that; now that I know Lucius is planning on handing her over to the Dark Lord, she will most definitely not be killed by Lucius. Lucius will take her to _Our Lord_ and the Dark Lord himself will break into her mind, use her body and then return her to Hogwarts, perhaps as a head on a spike as a special and particularly thoughtful gift for Potter.

I have discovered that this is not the time for me to be truthful – Minerva can be a quick draw when she is upset, and even the calming potion I have since given to her has not stopped her from glaring daggers at me. Apparently I'm cold hearted – who would have guessed?

Then why do I feel sick to my stomach? Why is that same stomach in knots? Why do I want to curl up in my bed and never leave it again?

I am no stranger to guilt, and this is not the first time my foolishness has got someone killed. So, why is finding Hermione Granger so important to me? Is this another form of redemption I am seeking – I couldn't save Lily, but I might be able to save this girl instead?

The Order is assembled. The meeting is beginning, and despite his palpable grief, Lupin is giving this diary curious looks.

_xxx_

**Author's Notes:** Thank you all once again for your incredibly kind and thoughtful reviews. Please sir, I want some… more. Words that should get me reviews and should be said to every Snape in the land. sigh Want one of my own. And thank you to **Sophi**, my beta extraordinaire, who managed to get this chapter back in record time.

I have changed Draco's birthday to suit the story, just as Lucius is somehow free and living happily at home because it's much more convenient than having to try to think of a way to set him free from Azkaban to wreak havoc on the world. Review and I'll see if I can get Severus to save Hermione from him… Don't review and she may be for the chop ;o)

The second half of this chapter was strangely hellish to write, and I hope it doesn't show too much. The next one will be posted soon and will contain some vaguely violent and horrible scenes. Just a warning :oD

Did I mention that you should review? You know you want to…

xXx


	7. Temptation

All characters, names and places that you recognise in this story belong to JKR and most definitely not me. The story line, however, is completely my own (though the clichés' origins are debatable), and I want no part of this story posted anywhere else without my prior knowledge and written permission.

Any resemblance of any of the characters portrayed in this story to any real-life people (Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen for example) is completely coincidental. Really.

**xxx**

**Warning: **This chapter contains torture, violence and rape. I tried not to be too descriptive, but I needed to get across the true horror of the situation for the reactions in subsequent chapters to be believable.

**xxx**

_Hunting you, I can smell you - alive  
Your heart pounding in my head _

Watching me, wanting me  
I can feel you pull me down  
Saving me, raping me, watching me

Watching me, wanting me  
I can feel you pull me down  
Fearing you... loving you  
I won't let you pull me down

_-Haunted by Evanescence_

**xxx**

**Diary of Severus Snape**

Tuesday, 2nd of December, 1997

When Narcissa and Lucius had first started seeing each other, I remember watching them with almost overwhelming envy. Lucius had seemed to be everything I wasn't and had always pretended I didn't long to be. He was good looking, where even my own mother hadn't been entirely of the opinion that I, myself, was; Lucius was filled out and broad-shouldered where I was gangly and naturally thin; he was smooth and refined where I was unused to pomp and circumstance and preferred to skulk in the darker corners of his parties, feeling awkward and unsure of myself.

Narcissa was breathtakingly beautiful and oozed sophistication, confidence and sexuality. In my short time on Earth I had never seen anyone with such cold beauty; she was untouchable. Lucius didn't just have the looks and the poise; he had a woman on his arm and in his bed whose beauty rivalled that of Aphrodite herself. Even Lily Evans/Potter couldn't hold a candle to that woman as far as physical beauty went.

Lucius would treat Narcissa as if she were made of the most delicate spun glass and listen to her as if she held the answer to all the world's problems in that exquisite head of hers; she would speak and Lucius would insist that everyone else in the room was silent. They looked at each other with a calm regard that, despite its apparent coolness, spoke of a great love and affection.

I was so jealous I could barely breathe.

On the night of their wedding, they had a celebratory ball, which up until then, was the most impressive event I had witnessed in Pure Blood society. It was beyond grand, and I felt utterly out of place even being present there, let alone having a place of honour at Lucius' table. When I could stand no more of the couple's presence, I attempted to sneak out of one of the back entrances unobserved, and it was only by accident that I came upon the newly married Narcissa Malfoy. She was crying; the sound choked and stifled as she hid her face in her hands, but no less hysterical for its muffling.

All that Lucius had – all that money, the right breeding, the perfect face and charm – and he couldn't make this woman happy. At the time, I had a fleeting idea that Narcissa was just impossible to please, or perhaps had lost love that she was shedding tears over on her wedding night. Somehow I had never suspected that Lucius' new wife had been exposed to the less refined, crueller side of the man she had chosen to marry. His treatment of her in public was almost reverent, how could his treatment of her in private be anything less?

It took less than six weeks after their marriage for Lucius to show the nature of his and Narcissa's relationship in my presence. He had never cared about my opinion of his actions, and when we had been drinking late one night and Narcissa had almost timidly come to bid us goodnight, he had ordered her to her knees and told her to pleasure him. She had protested, _I_ had protested and got up to leave, but Lucius had deftly locked and warded the door before my fingers could close around the handle.

When Lucius had attempted to rape his wife in front of me that night, it was the first time since joining the Death Eaters that I had raised a wand to the blonde-haired Wizard who had taught me so much. I rescued Narcissa from his clutches and had broken through his wards, only to cast a set of my own to keep him firmly locked in the room until the morning, when he would have undoubtedly sobered up and would be feeling intensely sorry and contrite.

I hadn't expected Narcissa to attack me the moment we were alone in the hallway. I hadn't expected her fury to be turned at me, or for her to plead with me to set her furiously angry husband free. She had finally broken down and sobbed. Blotches appearing on her perfect face and her eyes red-rimmed, she had asked me if I could live with myself when he tortured her in the morning for her disobedience, for making such a fuss.

The next time I saw her, the marks on her face and body were expertly hidden and her serene smile betrayed none of the fear I had seen in her eyes days earlier. Her injuries hadn't been healed, because that would not have taught Narcissa a lesson, so instead she suffered in silence, in public, with a smile on her face.

When I talked to her after, she had denied she had shed a tear that night and refused to even listen when I told her I could help her get away. She showed me politely out of her house and told me to come back and visit Lucius soon. But where I had lost my complete admiration for Lucius at seventeen when he had raped and tortured me, at twenty I lost any envy I had ever had for him; the abject misery in Narcissa's eyes whenever I truly looked at her took care of that.

Lucius, of course, was furious that I had intervened. He had explained that a man's wife is his property, and if I interfered again, he would kill me, despite the small amount of use I had to the Dark Lord. When I laughed at him and easily knocked the wand from his hand, he had been stunned and our rivalry had started in earnest, along with mine and Narcissa's covert and complex friendship.

I had thought that Lucius and Narcissa's wedding party was the most sophisticated event I had ever been present at. The champagne was painfully expensive, and the food was served on plates that could have paid for Albus' entire supply of Muggle sweets for the next century or six. The house had been decorated by a famous and painfully expensive Muggle designer, the musicians were world renowned, and the guests were draped in gold and jewels.

In the back rooms, Lucius had hired carefully concealed prostitutes to serve both the male and female guests; they really had _every_ need taken care of. My shock and apparent naivety amused Lucius and frustrated me. Murder I could handle, but until this time I had never fully realised the sexual deviancy that seemed to be a Death Eater trait. This party was just the first in a long line of Malfoy parties, and it was the least shocking of them all.

When Draco was born it meant that Narcissa had given Lucius a new possession to show off to the pure-blooded and influential. The parties he threw somehow became even grander affairs, and by Draco's eighth birthday, at least two hundred witches and wizards were invited to a grand ball, where Draco, in his expensive silk robes, was shown off for half an hour, before House Elves were summoned to collect the boy and put him to bed.

The decoration that year was done by a young and much sought after interior designer, who went by the name Clarence Llewellyn-Bowen, a suitably poncy name for an incredibly poncy man. After Lucius had hexed him bald and had ranted at the poor Wizard for an hour for not decorating the house to his liking, he had locked the man in his dungeons for a week. The man, I believe, has changed his name, lives his life as entirely as a Muggle and has some ridiculous television show which has made him far richer than even Lucius, though for all his riches, his wigs are barely convincing.

On that eighth birthday, I recall the moment when I realised that Lucius Malfoy really was a law unto himself. The moment the doors had closed behind Draco, Lucius had proceeded to put two of the youngest witches attending the event under the Imperius Curse, and took them into one of the back rooms. The witches were raped violently by a long line of men and forced to perform more depraved acts than I knew existed, until they eventually, and thankfully, passed out. This was the first time Lucius had openly turned one of these parties into what is referred to as a Dark Revel, and this became one of the tamest of these parties.

As the years went on, the guest list got shorter and more selective, and the debauchery enjoyed at these parties got darker and more violent. While Lucius and Narcissa's anniversary party was, and still is, an excuse for grandeur, Draco's birthday has become an excuse for debauchery.

Every year Lucius gathers together his most depraved friends, and he gives them the tools to play out their most disturbed fantasies. Rape, torture, paedophilia, murder – these have become what is almost commonplace at a Malfoy party. The Dark Lord, now he has fully returned, thinks that these revels are marvellous, and encourages Lucius to delve deeper and deeper into his sick mind for even more twisted 'games' to play.

This year, the party will be different; Draco will finally be of age, and for once won't be sent away to the relative safety of his bedroom for the duration of the party. No amount of coaching and support is going to get him through the hell he will live through tonight, but I have assured him I will be there for him afterwards, and only then can he let his cover fall and break down, and break down he will. Tonight will be Draco's first true challenge in his father's world, and I am not entirely convinced it will not be his downfall.

Draco's seventeenth birthday party is going to surpass all others, and the torture of Hermione Granger will undoubtedly be the main entertainment for the evening. She will escape the night with her life and sanity barely intact, only for the Dark Lord to sever the remaining chords.

These days I habitually avoid any of Lucius' get-togethers like the plague, a perfect array of excuses already formulated months in advance. I am no longer the young man who is desperate to win his approval, and I have turned evading Lucius into an art form. This time, Lucius will know that I have only deigned to come to his house because of Miss Granger, and Lucius knowing that I have any sort of weakness is a terrible thing – she _will_ be used against me.

Almost the entire Order knows where I will be tonight, but the thought gives me very little comfort. I have to keep the girl as safe and undamaged as possible, all the while surrounded by a group of people who know me to be wholly uncaring and indifferent to everything around me. It is impossible to skulk in corners, spying, when my principal job of rescuing Miss Granger this evening is going to make me stand out, even without Lucius' plans for the evening, and he _will_ have plans.

If both the girl and I survive this evening, I will consider believing in the existence of God, or _a_ God, at least, for it will take a miracle for us to live through this night. Whatever happens, I will not let her go to the Dark Lord – I cannot, for all our sakes. If I can't get her out of the Manor, I am very aware that I will have to end her life instead. At least I can make it quick and painless for her.

Sometimes I wish I had less responsibility, less on my shoulders, less riding on the actions I choose take. Nights like this, though, make me glad I can at least _do_ something.

xxx

**Diary of Severus Snape**

Wednesday, 3rd of December, 1997

Survival is sometimes overrated. Death could be the perfect life we spend all our days searching for, which would mean that if I had given Lucius a knife last night and told him to stab it straight through my heart, right now I could be surrounded by nubile, young, intelligent, naked women. They would be taking turns at pleasuring me until I could take no more, and then they would read potions journals to me while I relaxed and recovered in a hot, soapy bath. I would even consider letting one (or all) of them wash my back for me.

Instead, I am sitting on my bed, in my quarters at Hogwarts, my thoughts completely in disarray. I am alive, the girl is alive, and the only thought I can pick out of the jumble in my head is, 'How the fuck could I be so stupid?' There are other thoughts, but they are incredibly well buried under a thick layer of self-recrimination and guilt. I am doubtful the rest of the thoughts will ever surface under the weight.

**Malfoy Manor, 8:28pm**

The invitation says to arrive promptly at eight, so I arrive just late enough to thoroughly irk Lucius. This has the added benefit that it is twenty eight minutes that I haven't had to spend pretending I am not disgusted by whatever Lucius' latest fetish is and that I don't want to plant the bastard. I would have arrived far later, but I am not naive enough to think that Lucius would wait for long to start on Miss Granger, even without me to torture along with her. If you can't kill two birds with one stone, why not kill the first one and then flaunt her bloodied body to the second bird? It would serve as a warning, if nothing else, and Lucius loves attempting to threaten me.

I am kept waiting at the door for no more than a second, which gives me no time to prepare myself and gather my scattered thoughts. A young girl answers the door, obviously employed to do so. She curtsies politely in greeting and immediately recognises me, as is evident by the sudden emergence of fear in her eyes. I recognise her just as quickly, although she barely stands out from the rest in my mind – an unremarkable Slytherin who graduated two years ago. I am bemused to note that I still provoke quite recognisable terror in the girl, though I don't remember being unusually harsh with her.

"Professor Snape," she says nervously, while looking around warily, as if expecting another of her ex-professors to pop up behind me. It continuously baffles me that students and ex-students alike seem amazed that you can survive outside the classroom. Do they think I sleep standing up in my own supply cupboard? Do they think all teachers cease to exist if they step out of the boundaries of the school?

I sigh and contemplate looking into her mind to see what is making her so jumpy. Surely this can't all be my presence at her place of work? If she is working for Lucius, there must be something about the girl – Lucius would not stand her if she were constantly like this. Then I remind myself that the reason I am here tonight is not to spy, and I move to brush past my ex-pupil.

"Hermione Granger," she hisses in my ear, giving name to my reason for being here and making my heart speed up in shock. "She's here."

"What?" Eloquence has gone out of the window, as has my once impressive power to think on my feet.

"I know you're not one of them, sir," she says in hushed tones, still looking frantically around her, although now I realise that she is looking for any sign of Lucius Malfoy. "And that girl, Granger, she is still one of your students, isn't she? They've got her under some curse."

_Fuck._

"And what do you expect me to do about it?" I ask, my eyes narrowing.

She looks taken aback, but still far too confident that I am not one of _them_.

"You could get help?" she offers desperately. "I know she's… not one of us, but sir, she's in a really bad way."

"Miss Muir," I sigh impatiently. "I can scarcely believe you were ever sorted into my House, and I doubt very much that Lucius Malfoy pays you to stand about gossiping."

She recoils as if I have just bitten her and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her stupidity. The Sorting Hat should have put the ridiculous girl into Hufflepuff, or possibly even Gryffindor, but certainly not Slytherin, where for seven years the students have it drilled into them to think before they speak.

"I won't be telling anyone this time," I snap at her. "But your time would be better spent finding yourself a new job. I seem to recall you had a talent in Charms – put it to good use! You will never survive here."

She looks both terrified and confused, and she doesn't try to stop me as I stride past her to the door that is open just enough for me to hear the softly played classical music that Lucius favours. Taking a deep breath and schooling my features, I push the door open and attempt to prepare myself for what I will see inside.

Along with all the usual _entertainment_, I fully expect to walk into the room to find Miss Granger being gang raped on the thick, expensive carpet of Lucius and Narcissa's drawing room, and while plenty of other unwilling victims have been provided for such a diversion, a quick scan of their terrified faces tells me that she is not among them.

Upon further inspection, I come to the conclusion that she isn't in the room at all, and whether this is a blessing or a curse remains to be seen. Most of the Dark Lord's servants are here tonight, and every one of the men and women present are at least half as twisted as Lucius himself. Miss Granger could be in another room with any number of them, or she could be dead already.

Nothing in the room is anything I haven't seen before. Most noticeably there are five females and two males, all young, but probably of age, all held immobile by various spells and devices around the room. Some are chained to the walls in crude, Muggle ways, others are held still in the air by spells while they are raped and violated. All of them are screaming silently into the air that is otherwise filled with audible laughter, music and merriment. Beds have been provided and there isn't one of the victims that isn't in the process of being violated in some way. This is a sex-fest, and rape is one of Lucius' favourite pastimes, as I have been made forcibly aware of in the past.

Contrary to popular belief, not all Death Eaters are interested in rape, murder and general debauchery. Many have joined the Dark Lord under duress; others are there purely for the power and influence it offers, not the depraved acts that are sometimes involved in acquiring that power. But it is an undeniable fact that some people, men and women, joined the Dark Lord, at least in part, because it allowed them to bring to bear their warped fantasies and wants.

Tonight is undeniable and sickening proof of this – one captive girl is already bleeding from her mouth and nose, and blood stains her inner thighs. As I let my eyes wander around the room casually, I realise with some certainty that at least one of the others is already dead. The room is filled with the stench of blood, fear and sex, and if I wasn't able to detach myself from situations so completely, I wouldn't be able to keep my nausea from coming apparent.

I silently account for all the usual suspects that would be present at a get-together like this, and I am only half way through when I am interrupted by a voice I have grown to despise.

"Severus," Lucius greets warmly, as if I am really the old and valued friend he likes to pretend I am. His voice is coming from across the room, and I turn my head towards it, only to avert my eyes as he pulls his silken robes around him to cover the erection he had just been forcing into a young boy's mouth. The boy looks humiliated and mindlessly terrified, and even if he survives the next fifty-five minutes until help is scheduled to arrive, he will probably never completely get over the degradation he has experienced this night.

A large part of me is sure that this boy will be better off dead. He looks barely of age, and I am guessing that he is entirely Muggle. If he is saved before someone kills him, the Obliviates it will take to rid him of the horror he has undergone this evening alone will turn him into another Neville Longbottom. Letting Longbottom live with the images of his parents torture might have left him with nightmares, but he would have had a far sharper mind with which to deal with them.

I also realise that if I am thinking that this tortured boy would be better off dead than rescued, then I should not be so intent on getting Miss Granger out of this nightmare alive. The horrors she has undoubtedly witnessed over the past five days will have been unthinkable to anyone who has never been subjected to Lucius' twisted mind and non-existent mercy. She will have suffered far more than this boy, who is, for the most part, unimportant to Lucius and has therefore been saved from the mind games and effort that Lucius will have saved for Miss Granger.

Not daring to let my mind linger on the matter while I am surrounded by the Dark Lord's 'finest', I follow Lucius as he gestures me over to where Narcissa is sitting in a group made up of the more refined of the Death Eater women. She is sipping champagne from a long stemmed glass, smiling benignly at something one of them is saying to her.

"Severus, darling!" she interrupts the woman with uncharacteristic rudeness.

She rises gracefully to her feet and looks like she is about to throw herself into my arms, before she visibly restrains herself and smiles a tight-lipped smile at Lucius instead. This is hell for her, however many times she has had to witness it; she doesn't have the stomach for torture.

It is only a short amount of time since Lucius was in Azkaban, and Narcissa was completely at a loss. Before his incarceration, Lucius had made every decision, not just about the house and its upkeep, but about things as mundane as what Narcissa was to wear that day. In the years they had been together, Lucius had made his wife so insecure and unsure of her own mind that she was incapable of making even the most basic decisions. She claimed, during a drunken conversation one night shortly after his trial, that she had never cared for running a household, but the truth was that she is incapable of doing much more than looking beautiful and being charming.

It would have taken lot of patience and time to turn Narcissa into someone capable of looking after herself, and I wasn't interested in being given the job – my ridiculous and fleeting crush on Narcissa ended a long time ago. In actual fact, there was little time for her to attempt to re-grow the backbone her husband had removed from her, as Lucius was in Azkaban for barely two months. When he finally succeeded in buying his way out of Azkaban, Narcissa once more acquired her previous façade of outward confidence, and the nights she had sobbed over his absence were at once forgotten.

It took less than a week for things to get back to normal for them. Lucius sought to reward the people who had been pivotal in his release from Azkaban, and despite Narcissa's desperate protests, she became their prize for an entire weekend. All those nights she had cried on my shoulder, she had somehow managed to forget that Lucius was unconcerned with anyone's welfare but his own. While other men mauled her too-perfect body, she held back the tears and held Lucius' eyes with her own while he watched them take her.

The woman standing in front of me now is a classic abused wife; hating the situation she has managed to get herself into, she seeks solace in the fact that staying where she is, as Lucius' wife, is her choice and she has a small amount of power in that position. The power she has is superficial, but it shows only in her shaking hands.

If it were my place to rescue her, I would. If I were in love with her, I would pull her into my arms and take her away from this hell and help her rebuild herself again. Unfortunately, Narcissa is the only one who can save herself from this life.

"Narcissa," I greet, with as warm a smile as I can muster, while I force myself not to scan the room further for signs of Miss Granger. I let my eyes take in Narcissa's beautiful clothing and flawlessly made-up features. "You look enchanting."

A distracted smile barely makes it to her lips, and as I let my eyes follow her worried gaze, I realise why she is dosed up on large amounts of opiate this evening.

"Hello, Uncle Severus," the object of Narcissa's worry greets me with an exasperatingly cheeky grin. Courage, Draco sometimes lacks, but years of being permanently on show have taught this boy how to play his role to perfection. I watch him for a moment and I am confident that he will survive this hell with no outward scars. His father will never know his son is as different to him as it is possible to be.

"If you wish to live to see your next birthday, please refrain from calling me that," I say, looking purposely irritated. I hold his eyes with mine, widening them slightly and asking permission to delve into his mind. He laughs and keeps eye contact with me, understanding.

I am about to skim his mind when a biting grip on my shoulder stops me. Lucius smirks at me knowingly and his mouth brushes my ear as he leans forward to whisper to me.

"Don't fret, my friend – you'll get a turn at her before she is made useless; I know necrophilia was never your penchant. You never know, the Dark Lord may let you be the one to do the deed, having spent so many years enduring her presence in your class. Wouldn't that be an honour, Severus, to be the one to extinguish the light from those eyes? Such fight in her, too; it was truly a joy to break her."

My hand clenches around the glass of champagne Narcissa has forced into my hand, and I place it on the table next to me, for fear it will shatter in my grip.

"Do you want to see her, Severus?" he asks softly. "Want to prove to me that you haven't gone soft on us? It would be a tragedy for the Dark Lord to find out you've become a liability…"

"I have explained this before, Lucius," I say remarkably calmly. "My tastes are neither for the young, or the unwilling."

"Oh, Severus, she is very willing."

I should have killed him then. I should have guessed what he had done, and I should have known not to follow him as he led me through the mass orgy that Lucius' parties inevitably turn into. I should have followed him five nights ago as he left The Three Broomsticks. I should have never let him into my head to make me turn to the Dark Lord in the first place, all those years ago.

The door I follow Lucius through leads to a room that, though infused with the Malfoy heavy-handed splendour, is still entirely unexpected. I had anticipated a dungeon room, empty but for some well-placed torture devices, the girl strapped to a rack in the centre, or something equally obvious and fitting Lucius' tastes. The comfort and finery of the room shocks me so completely that it takes me a full minute to notice the girl.

At first glance, Miss Granger looks unharmed. She is unclothed and her arms are restrained behind her back with some leather straps, but, as is apparent by the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she is still alive. In her foetal position on the floor in the corner or the room, it takes a longer and closer look for me to notice the bruises that cover her slender body. A thin, but even layer of dirt and grime hides these bruises, which speaks of the days she has spent in the filth of the Malfoy dungeons.

She is shivering despite the warmth of the room; her hair is matted and almost black with dirt and what I can only guess is blood, though it appears to have dried and is old now. I have an almost uncontrollable urge to wrap her in my arms, to soothe her and take her to safety. But my cover must not be tarnished any further than it already has been.

"We had the servants try to clean her up a little, but she proved most uncooperative. Perhaps a good _Scourgify_, before you sully yourself with her?"

"I do not…" I start.

"…force yourself on unwilling victims?" Lucius interrupts, finishing my sentence with a smirk. "Yes, so you keep saying. And as I said, she is not unwilling."

I take an involuntary step closer to the girl, and as she finally acknowledges my presence in the room, she looks up at me with something more than just fear in her eyes.

"What the fuck have you given her, Lucius?" I snap, not able to take my eyes off the shivering girl.

She moans low in her throat and buries her head in her arms. I watch as she pushes herself against the wall, as if desperately hoping that it will somehow envelop and protect her. She is frightened of me.

My students, in general, dislike me. Most fear me, and as a more than slightly harsh teacher, apparently loyal Death Eater and altogether miserable bastard, this is only to be expected. But Miss Granger has been more than just a student in my classes; she has spent weeks alone in my company. I discussed her work and theories with her, albeit with my usual biting comments and sarcasm. Never once in the past year or so has she regarded me with fear in her eyes, or even the required amount of respect I expect from her. Now she is whimpering in absolute terror at my mere presence.

"Now Severus, don't be angry – I am merely trying to ensure your enjoyment this evening. Are you sure you wouldn't like a vial of something yourself? You are always so dispassionate and rigid; surely you want the girl to have a memorable evening?"

"What. Have. You. Given. Her?" I ask slowly, emphasising each word as I force them through my gritted teeth.

"It's more what I've given you," he intones. "A girl who will willingly touch you and you don't even have to pay her, Severus. Do appear more grateful, or I shall have to give your gift to someone else. You wouldn't want someone else unwrapping her, would you, now?"

In her corner, the girl curls further in on herself as she hears Lucius' words. She whimpers and he laughs cruelly.

"Enjoy," he advises me with a smirk that plainly says he thinks he has won. And at this moment, it does seem that he has. If I leave the room, she will be tortured by more men and women than she can count. If I stay with her, I will undoubtedly be checked up on and will have to at least make a show of doing _something_ with her. I'm tempted to give her an impromptu lesson in advanced potions making, which would probably be more in character of me than my touching the girl.

"Fuck off, Lucius," I snap as he leaves the room, chuckling.

Whether Lucius thinks it is degrading for me to fuck her because of her heritage or because she is my student is uncertain, but he is counting on my humiliation this evening. I wonder how I can possibly have given Lucius such power over me – he should never have known that he could use this girl against me. When did she become a weakness?

At another whimper from the corner of the room, I bring myself back to the problem at hand. Lucius has drugged Miss Granger with one or more potions; one definitely being a fairly strong lust potion. I need to assess her current state, make her more comfortable, and then all we need to do is wait it out until help will arrive in the form of a rather large, Auror-induced distraction. If we are left alone for the next forty-five, minutes then our escape will be unfeasibly easy.

I wave my hand quickly to scan the room for any spells that may have been put up to observe or record my interactions with Lucius' prize prisoner. Surprisingly, I find none. When I am fully confident that we are not being watched, I circle the bed and step towards the terrified girl.

"Don't come near me," she hisses at me from between her bare and filthy knees, not bothering to lift her head up to look at me. Her voice is hoarse and her throat obviously dry. I debate the merits of getting her a drink, and decide not to risk speeding the effects of the potion any further.

"I need to ascertain what concoction Lucius has given you, Miss Granger," I tell her calmly, taking another step towards her. Her ribs are standing out, pushing against her skin, and I realise that she has been starving for far longer than she has been under Lucius' guard.

"Do you remember anything about it? Smell, consistency, taste?" I ask.

I take another cautious step towards her, trying not to startle her.

"Don't touch me," she hisses, like a cornered feral cat being stalked by a vicious and hungry dog. Only this dog has been practically neutered by Albus – I cannot even think inappropriate thoughts about her without his disappointed, disapproving face seeming to appear in front of me.

"I am not going to force myself on you, girl. Have some sense!" I snap impatiently.

"I know that!" she snaps back at me more forcefully than I had expected, sounding equally as impatient and pissed off as I. I thank whatever deity listening that she at least doesn't seem to have lost her spirit.

"Then let me examine you."

When she finally looks up at me, squinting in the relatively dim candlelight of the room, the one recognisable emotion in her eyes is undeniably one of lust. Her eyes hold mine and she moans low in her throat. It is either a moan of wanting, or one of absolute despair. I finally realise that it is not me she is afraid of, it is herself. This should be far less of a relief than it is – I shouldn't be bothered by what the ridiculous child thinks of me. I am here as a member of the Order, to rescue her before important information can reach the Dark Lord's hands. Whether she loathes me or has dirty dreams involving me and a large pot of whipped cream is of no importance to me and has no relevance to the situation we are in.

"I am so sorry," she whispers brokenly. She closes her eyes against both the light and myself and presses her cheek against the wall. Her breathing is panicked and far too rapid.

"Take deep breaths, Miss Granger, you are hyperventilating," I instruct her, ignoring her idiotic apology. While she seemingly attempts to follow my orders, I take a few more steps towards her. I press my fingers firmly against one of her wrists, both of which are still tightly bound behind her back. Her pulse is racing, but not dangerously so, for now, at least.

"Stop touching me," she chokes out, wriggling forward and away from my hand. Whatever she has been dosed up with, at least she still has the strength to fight against it.

I ignore her protests, but as I unfasten the straps that bind her arms behind her back, I make sure my fingers do not brush against her skin. When her arms are free, she attempts to move them forward and bites back a gasp of pain. She is either injured, or hasn't been able to move her arms in a long time.

"Open your eyes for a moment, I need to check your pupils," I instruct.

"No."

"Don't be ridiculous," I sigh.

"You ran out of the room when I touched your hair, you're not going to react well if I…" her voice trails away and she buries her face against her stiff arms in humiliation. "Just leave. Please."

Seeing her half-dressed in that room in the East Tower seems like it was months or years ago, with everything I have been through since. It seems almost unreal, like I dreamt her throwing herself at me, her tear-filled eyes pleading with me to help her. To her, the days passing in blackness, pain and misery, it is one of her last memories of being in the outside world, and she is undoubtedly still humiliated by it.

"Open your eyes," I instruct again. "I am not small or helpless, and you are in no way capable of forcing yourself on me."

She whimpers again.

"Trust me."

After a moment, she slowly opens her eyes. Blinking, she stares straight ahead, refusing to look at me. I bend over her to look more closely at her eyes. Her pupils are so large that her irises have disappeared completely. I seem to remember her eyes were once a warm shade of hazel, but now they look worryingly like my own eyes, which are so dark they are almost black.

My eyes were a present from my father – another thing he gave me that I am entirely ungrateful for. Miss Granger's eyes, along with the wildness in them, are the direct result of the Libidinosis Potion, and I am guessing from the symptoms that she is only in the early stages of reacting to it. From this point, things are only going to get worse for her.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes." One word and all her desolation and despondency are somehow spoken in it.

"Would you prefer me to _Stupefy_ you until I can get you out of here and get you an antidote?"

She is in no position to defend herself, conscious or not. She will be in no more danger Stupefied than she is right now curled up on the floor.

"Yes." Her answer was quick, decisive and definite. She sounded painfully relieved.

Her entire body is trembling uncontrollably now as she fights the potion roaring in her veins. As I point my wand at her bare chest, I wonder briefly how I am going to stop Lucius taking her unconscious form out for the others to use. I comfort myself with the thought that if nothing else, at least she will be unconscious for the torture.

The silent stunning spell I cast has no effect. I then point my wand at the bed and cast a handful of more mundane charms at its sturdy frame, all to no avail.

"Fuck."

Miss Granger moans and I resist the urge I have to beat her over the head with something large, solid and heavy, which would serve my purpose, but possibly kill her too.

"I can't do it," I tell her. "I can't cast a spell in this room."

_Fucking, fucking Lucius._

"I can't stay like this," she moans. "I can't keep fighting this."

I move my hand to her left wrist to again check her racing pulse and she uses her other hand to tear my fingers from her wrist, but instead of pushing my hand away from her, she closes her fingers around it. She presses my palm flat against her chest, between her breasts and against her rapidly beating heart. My hand spasms in her grip and I try to gently pull away.

"Do you feel that?" she whispers.

"Yes."

"My heart is beating so quickly," she tells me. "My body aches. I need to touch you; I need you to touch me."

"That is the potion talking, Miss Granger" I inform her formally, my voice not as steady as I would have liked. "Fight it."

"No."

I sigh in frustration.

"Then you don't have to fight it," I tell her, firmly. "I am strong enough to stop you."

_No, I'm bloody not._

She slides my hand from its relatively safe position at centre of her chest, to cover one of her bare breasts. It, like her entire body, is filthy from the grime of the dungeon where she has been kept for the past five days. Finger-shaped bruises mar its otherwise perfect form, and anger burns in me, directed almost completely at Lucius; some, of course, I direct at myself.

Her nipple is hard, despite the warmth of the room, and it is pressing into the palm of my hand. My mind seems to be telling me to back away and get the hell out of there, but my treacherous body is not listening.

It takes nearly a minute of her moving against my hand for my body to comply with my mind, and I tear my hand from her grasp. I move quickly to the other side of the room, putting the large, solid, four-poster bed between us. I am harder than I ever remember having been, despite the self-disgust I feel. The door is tempting me, and I wonder if leaving would be a more sensible option than staying here to face more temptation than ever faced the Biblical Adam of Eden.

"No." My very own forbidden apple scrambles to her feet, clumsy in her panic and seeming to be reading my mind. "Don't leave. Please don't leave me alone here."

"I have an apothecary of potions in the pockets of my robes, Miss Granger," I tell her, despair evident in my voice as I watch her. "I daren't give you even one of them, for fear that it will react with the Libidinosis that is in your system. There is nothing I can do to make this easier on you – you have to fight this for as long as you can. When you are no longer able, I will have to restrain you."

She moves a few steps, wincing in pain. She moves to sit on the bed, supporting her left arm with her right hand and rubbing it gently.

"Is your arm broken?" I move no more than a step closer to get a better look at her arm and she watches me like I am her prey, and she is about to move in for the final pounce and kill.

"I don't think so," she murmurs distractedly. "Just twisted."

"What possessed you to follow me that night?" I ask. I am furious with myself and the situation I have put us in as much as I am with her. Distracting her with conversation is a long shot, but it's worth a try. It may buy time at the very least.

She laughs bitterly and doesn't answer for her moment, her strange eyes still watching me with an intensity that makes me uneasy. One of her hands unconsciously moves to stroke her own stomach and I swallow hard as my eyes follow the path of her fingers.

"I was going to ask you to sleep with me," she tells me. Her breathing is quickening again, and her trembling is getting no better.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You could have taken a lust potion," she informs me lightly. Her fingers are now brushing the hair that is between her legs and still I cannot tear my eyes away.

"Mood altering drugs are never a good idea," I inform her. "As should be glaringly obvious to you at the moment."

_Though I would give a small fortune for something strong that would make this night pass more quickly, and preferably in a blur._

"Desperate times…" she murmurs, self mockingly.

"You are not unattractive," I inform her, the words forcing their way out of my mouth despite the fact that my mind isn't altogether sure this conversation is one I should be having. "But I am in a position of responsibility and…"

I realise she is no longer listening to me. Her eyes have glazed over and I watch as her fingers dip between her legs. Her breath escapes her lungs in a gasp.

"Please touch me."

"No."

She closes her eyes and moans. There is sweat standing on her forehead and I remember that fever is one of the many side effects of this potion. I curse Malfoy again for taking away my ability to use magic in here. I need to ascertain what her temperature is, although admittedly there is no way to calm it sufficiently without using one of the potions I have with me.

"At least look at me," she begs. Her eyes are open again and I know she is watching me. I turn my head and look her in the eye, but refuse to let my eyes stray to where she is blatantly touching herself now.

"I'm sorry," she moans. "I can't stop. If I do, I'll touch you."

I bite back a moan of my own. This is not helping.

"Look at me," she demands more forcefully this time.

"I am," I snap back, tersely.

"Do I disgust you that much?"

"No."

She scrambles across the bed and reaches to touch me as I stand there and I catch her uninjured arm before it can make contact with my skin.

"We have a little over half an hour to wait until help arrives," I tell her, hoping to God she doesn't notice the bulge in my trousers, which my dress robes don't completely hide. "And the only way you are going to survive this is if you carry on doing what you're doing and keep your hands off me. Lie down."

"What?"

"Lie on the bed and cover yourself with the blanket," I instruct sharply. I sit on the edge of the bed and bury my face in my hands, biting back the moan of desperation.

If I can't _see_ her, then I can tell myself she's not doing what I know she's doing.

I have less than a minute of false relief, before the cover that was mercifully hiding her writhing body from my eyes, is thrown back.

"It's so hot," she pants.

_Yes, you could say that._

I know that if I survive this night that the image of this girl, naked, panting and writhing on these silk sheets, is forevermore going to be burned into my mind. Her injured arm is lying by her side, but the fingers of it are rhythmically clutching at the covers underneath her. Her other hand is deftly circling her clitoris, faster and harder as she gets closer to the edge. I shouldn't be watching.

Her injured arm lifts slowly and painfully, and her hand grasps mine where it is lying on the bed. My hand imprisoned in hers, she drops her arm and pulls both our hands to the bed, holding mine tightly in her grip. Her other hand moves still more frantically between her legs.

"Miss Granger," I snap furiously. I daren't pull away from her forcibly for fear of further injuring her arm, which leaves me with few choices. I consider using the pressure point in her neck to knock her unconscious, but without any form of relief the potion will only raise her body temperature further.

"Please," she begs. I doubt very much she even knows what she is begging for now.

Her back arches, her head thrown back against the pillow and a low moan leaves her exquisite mouth.

"Fuck," she whimpers.

_Ten points from Gryffindor for inappropriate language, Miss Granger._

I should tear my eyes away. I should let go of her hand, but when I find that my grip on her hand is just as tight as hers on mine, I am not surprised. I want her so much I can hardly breathe, and if we get back to Hogwarts I vow to myself that I will be handing in my resignation immediately.

In the aftermath of her orgasm, sanity temporarily returns. Her head twists away from me and she turns onto to her side, burying her face against the pillow. With the hand that isn't still clutching mine, she pulls the bedclothes over herself and despite her very obvious self-disgust, she is still holding my hand tightly in hers.

"Oh God," she whispers. "Oh God. I'm so sorry."

"The potion you have ingested is a class A drug, banned in every corner of the Wizarding world; to fight it is as futile as fighting the Cruciatus curse itself. Whatever is happening to you, whatever is going through your head, you are responsible for neither your thoughts, nor your actions."

_I, however, am fully responsible for my thoughts **and** actions and should be in rotting in Azkaban right now._

I look at the Wizarding watch Albus gave me for Christmas two years ago. Fifteen minutes to go. She will never make it. _I_ will never make it.

"God, I'm thirsty," she croaks into the pillow. "Draco couldn't get anything to me today with his father _preparing_ him all day."

"Lucius has been starving you?" I ask. It's not really a question, as I know the answer. I remember the hot, heavenly smelling food in the darkness. The wine, the fruit juice, the icy water with clinking cubes of ice floating at the top. I also remember the hours of agony afterwards; the pain, the vomiting and the desperate hunger that followed soon after, which succeeded time and time again in making me eat the food again. One in every seven or eight meals I was given was free of poison, which made the will to leave it lessen still further. Lucius' excels in subtle torture.

"In a manner of speaking," she answers me bitterly.

"Wait here."

I have no doubt that outside of this little cell, my magic will work, so it is of no surprise when I open the door and point my wand towards a passing tray of excruciatingly expensive champagne, that my summoning spell works instantly. The glass of champagne is in my hand before the serving girl can blink, and I go straight back to my charge, stopping myself from taking in even one detail about the room I am leaving – at this stage, it won't help.

I walk wordlessly over to Miss Granger and hold out the flute of champagne. When the cold glass touches her fingers, she eyes it with trepidation, refusing to take it from my hand. Days of poisoned food and drink have made her wary, whatever the source of the nourishment is.

"Alcohol will not react with the potion in your system," I tell her. What it might do is dull her senses and lower her inhibitions a little, which can only make this night of hell more bearable for her.

"Alcohol doesn't do much for re-hydrating the body, you know," she points out, unsteadily.

"Drink," I instruct. I resist the temptation to roll my eyes.

She finally lets her fingers close around the stem of the champagne glass, but her hands are shaking too much to hold it steadily enough. She lifts her injured arm from where she was holding the bedcover to her chest, to try to steady her other hand. The cover falls and pools around her waist as the cold liquid spills from her glass and down her chest, leaving a trail of clean skin where the champagne has effectively washed her.

"My hands don't seem to want to obey me today," she tells me with a shaking voice. She laughs nervously and then bites her lip.

My eyes holding hers, I take the glass from her and hold it to her lips. One of her hands wraps around my own, directing me as the glass tips and the cold liquid fills her mouth. She swallows convulsively, her hand tightening around mine and tipping the glass until the last drop has been licked from the rim of the glass. On an empty stomach in a girl so slight, this glass of champagne being gulped down should be akin to myself drinking half a bottle of Firewhisky in one go.

She pauses, her head tipped back, her eyes closed, and my hand gripped in hers, holding the glass to her mouth. She takes a deep breath and then opens her eyes. Passion is burning in her eyes so powerfully that it almost takes my breath away. Apparently the brief respite she had following her orgasm is now coming to an end.

"Please?" A one-word plea that she doesn't have to expand on.

"No."

I remove my hand from hers and put the glass on the bedside. I can see from the corner of my eye that one of her hands is already sliding slowly and torturously down her body. Her injured hand moves up and over her breast, playing with her nipple until it is hard and aching.

"Please don't make me do this," she begs helplessly. "Touch me instead. Touch me."

"Is that somehow less humiliating?" I ask in disbelief. "Believe me, tomorrow you will be thanking the Gods that I refused you."

"Stop thinking about tomorrow," she moans throatily. "Think about now. Think about how it would feel to be inside me. God, just touch me!"

_Fuck._ I let out a low, involuntary moan of my own and hope that she is too distracted to notice.

I reach for her, and she closes her eyes and whimpers. I gently push her shoulders so that she is once more lying on the bed. I reach for the hand that is sliding over her stomach and at the same time I pull the fallen cover from her body and throw the useless thing to the floor. When I slide her own hand between her legs, she whimpers again. I let go of her hand and pull back, but not before the curls that cover her brush against my fingers.

Her eyes open and she looks at me reproachfully, even as she moves her fingers. Her gaze is on me as she moans and I find myself unable to breathe.

"Touch me," she begs again.

"I _can't._"

If we do get out of this, I hope to every deity that is listening that she doesn't remember the need and desperation in my voice as I speak those words.

"It hurts," she whimpers.

"I know," I say soothingly. "It will get better."

_But not before it gets worse._

She writhes on the bed again, holding my eyes with hers the entire time. This time I do not look away, I hold her eyes with mine and watch every movement she makes. When she finally brings herself to orgasm again, I lift an unsteady hand to brush the damp hair from her forehead.

"Not long now," I murmur as soothingly as I can manage.

Tears come to her eyes and she tries desperately to blink them back. The situation has finally become too much for her. In her few moments of sanity before the potion is once again roaring through her veins, she is utterly humiliated. She pushes my hand away and curls up on herself and starts sobbing hysterically. Large gulps of air are forced into her lungs between wracking sobs, and I am helpless to comfort her. If I touch her, it will just make the situation worse.

Through her tears she suddenly laughs, pulling me out of my desperation by confusing the hell out of me. I watch her warily. Insanity is not a known side effect of the Libidinosis Potion, but Miss Granger does always have to be different.

"What can you possibly find amusing about this situation?" I ask irritably.

"Ron and Harry have been trying to get me to walk out of potions classes with them all year," she answers, sobering slightly. "At least I will need no more incentive now, if you manage to get us out of here. You will get us out of here?"

"Free of all your faces in my class each day – that _is_ cause for jubilant laughter," I remark dryly. Fantastic. I have finally managed to chase a student out of my class, and it is the only student I truly take pleasure in teaching.

"So as you're never going to see my face in your classroom again," she says breathlessly, the potion obviously kicking in again, and I bite back a groan of frustration. "You could at least make my leaving worth it."

Her hand almost delicately caresses her breasts, her fingers running lightly over her nipple, first on one breast and then the other. I watch, fascinated and unable to even contemplate looking away from her breathtaking body. She is seducing me, and she knows it.

When she slides her fingers between her legs I almost moan with her.

"Slide your fingers inside." The sound of my voice, thick with desire, shocks me.

She moans and immediately obeys. I swallow hard as I watch her fingers slide in and out, wet and shining in the candle lit room. I imagine my cock in their place, fucking her while she moans, whimpers and writhes as she is doing now. I vow yet again to hand in my resignation the moment I reach Hogwarts.

When she stops to reach for my hand, I don't stop her. She brings my hand to her breast and leaves it there, going back to touching herself. I close my eyes tightly as a wave of wanting flows through me so strongly it is agony. I let my thumb graze her nipple and she shivers convulsively.

When the door is thrown open, I expect to see Lucius and force myself not to stop what I am doing. I will not give him the pleasure of jumping back from her like I am a guilty schoolboy. Miss Granger herself has frozen completely, neither removing her hands from her body, nor continuing to pleasure herself.

"Is this important?" I ask, my voice sharper than intended.

"I wouldn't come to you if it wasn't," Draco's voice reaches my ears and I turn to look at him.

The boy lets his eyes wander over Miss Granger's body, neither appreciatively nor derisively. I contemplate covering her again, but the heat of her skin under my hand tells me she couldn't cope with that.

"It's a bloodbath out there," Draco says, a wobble in his voice that disputes the serenity of his face.

"It always is."

I remove my hand from the girl's breast and squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. I can feel her relaxing under my hand, but have no time to marvel at her level of trust in me. She knows I will keep her safe.

"You have a way to get out of here?" he asks, averting his eyes from the girl, who is once again letting her hand move between her legs, although now her eyes are tightly closed probably in an effort to pretend Draco and I are not in the room. I move down the bed enough to shield that part of her from Draco's view.

I nod. "It is almost time. What can you do about lowering these anti-apparition wards? They're keyed to family, and I can't tamper with them. It will be easier if we don't have to leave this room to escape."

"Give me a few minutes," he says, pulling his wand out of its holder. _His_ wand, thankfully, works.

Miss Granger chokes back a strangled gasp, and when I see Draco's eyes widen as he watches her, I consider pushing him back out of the door and into his father's bloodbath.

"Turn around," I bark. "And work on these wards if you want to get out of here at all."

"I've seen Granger naked every day for the past five days, Uncle Severus," Draco replies. "It's hardly shocking."

But, at a warning look from me, he turns away anyway, and with some reasonably impressive wand work, I can feel layer upon layer of wards being lowered.

"Stay with Miss Granger," I instruct the boy, lifting my hand to the door to open it.

"No!" The desperate plea that falls simultaneously from both their lips is equally heartfelt by both parties.

"I will be back momentarily," I reassure her. "And for God's sake, keep your distance from her, Draco."

I unclasp my cloak from my shoulders and throw it over her trembling body. I doubt she will keep it on, but I have to at least try to protect what is left of her modesty.

The smell of blood hits me as the door swings open. Half of the 'toys' Lucius provided for the evening's entertainment are dead but are still being used. I should have arranged for the Order to arrive before now, but when planning this I had to be sure I had enough time to find the girl before the Aurors arrived.

"Severus," Lucius greets from an ornate washbasin in the corner of the room. He is washing blood from his hands, and the water is turning red as it cleans hands, which, like my own, will never truly be clean.

"Finished with the Mudblood already, are we?" he asks in a tone of voice that could be used for talking about the weather. "Shall I send someone else in to entertain her?"

"Your son is currently entertaining her, Lucius," I say with a smirk. "And I am merely looking for some refreshments."

As I speak, a terrified looking girl walks slowly by with a tray. I pluck another flute of champagne from her as she passes and shoot her a dark look that sends her scuttling off to the other side of the room.

"You will regret screwing with me, Lucius," I murmur almost cordially. I turn on my heel and march back to the room I have left Miss Granger and Draco alone in. I can only hope she hasn't managed to completely strip him of his clothes in the time I have been absent.

When I push the door open, the girl is still covered by the cloak, although her face is flushed and her eyes are glazed. I eye the boy and note that he, too, is looking more than a little flushed.

"I haven't touched her," he says defensively at my raised eyebrow.

"I didn't think you had," I reply. _But you wanted to._

A piercing screeching sound fills my ears. I walk to the bed in two long strides and unceremoniously scoop the girl up in my arms, wrapping her in the soft material of my cloak. She moans, clinging to me and whimpering against my neck. I pull her tighter in case I drop her and the erection, which I had managed to lose the instant Lucius' dulcet tones assaulted my ears, immediately comes back with a vengeance

_Fantastic. That's really helpful._

She squirms a little in my arms and I realise that she is working her hand back between her legs. I clear my throat and turn to Draco.

"Keep firm hold of my arm, I am Apparating us all back to Hogwarts. I don't trust you not to get splinched tonight," I shout over the sound of the alarm and watch the door warily. It would not do for someone to come into the room and witness my rescue of Lucius' prisoner after we have managed to survive relatively unscathed so far.

Draco nods in assent, wincing from the shrill noise of the alarm, but complying immediately. I make a mental note to find some way to reward him for the way he handled himself tonight. Murdering his father for him is probably the best favour I could ever do the boy, come to think of it. Then I could pretend the act is completely unselfish when I _Avada_ the bastard next time I see him.

The minute hand on my watch reaches the twelve and a shudder runs through the room we occupy, along with the rest of the house, shaking the foundation it stands in. The Order is in, and I must get these two out before they are caught in the crossfire or Draco is arrested. Pops of Apparition sound in the next room, which come from either Aurors entering the room or Lucius' charming guests leaving in a bit of a rush.

I concentrate and feel the squeezing pressure of Apparition. Miss Granger typically chooses that moment to squirm in my arms and very nearly results in all of us getting splinched, and when my eyes open to see the gates of Hogwarts, I nearly fall to my knees in relief.

"Follow me," I bark at Draco, who has recovered quickly from the journey and is frowning at the girl. I walk quickly through the grounds of the castle, feeling the girl shuddering violently in my arms as I do.

"What are you doing?" the boy asks from a few metres behind me, sounding out of breath.

"I am sending a message to the Headmaster," I reply, sending the Patronus without breaking my stride and entering the dungeons easily without being seen. For once it seems that the students are actually in their beds, although I have no doubt that Potter and the two remaining Weasleys are still taking turns sitting up, waiting for news of their friend to arrive.

Although I think that Potter and Weasley are so dim that it's a miracle that they manage to walk and talk at the same time, let alone gain pass marks in their O.W.L.s, they do at least have loyalty going for them. They have had to be physically restrained from attacking Draco in the days before he was summoned home for his birthday, and they, along with a handful of other Gryffindors, have started to take on the appearance of the living dead, such is their worry for the Granger girl.

Draco, still in one piece despite both intentional and unintentional efforts from all sides, follows me into my quarters, looking more than a little shell-shocked now that he is away from the Revel and in relative safety. I tip Miss Granger unceremoniously onto my sofa and turn my back on her.

"Floo directly to your common room," I tell him. "See to it that no one knows you were missing tonight. Claim you had an argument with your parents early on and came back – your story will be corroborated. Come and see me tomorrow and we will talk."

"Yes, sir," he murmurs almost distractedly, stepping into the fire once the Floo Powder has turned the flames to a brilliant green. He looks back and gives me an undeniably sympathetic look, which instantly makes me want to curse him, however proud I feel of him at this moment.

"You did well tonight, Draco," I tell him quietly.

He nods once, a small smile forming on his lips, and then he is gone, leaving me alone with a drugged Miss Granger to sort out. At least my wand works and I can blast the girl unconscious if she annoys me further.

I sigh and walk reluctantly to the sofa on which the girl is stretched out. Her eyes are closed and it would appear that she is momentarily sated. I check her pulse again and note that, despite her calm demeanour, it is still racing. The skin on her wrist almost burns my fingers and there is no doubt that Lucius, cack-handed as he is, has given her an overdose.

"Haven't you learned your lesson yet?" she asks tiredly, not bothering to either open her eyes or lift her head from the velvet cushioned arm of my sofa to address me. "Stop touching me."

"Make up your mind."

"If only I still had one," she replies wearily. A hint of self-deprecation and amusement is in her voice, despite her exhaustion, and I realise that Draco is possibly not the only student who has made me proud tonight.

She has coped extremely well, not that I shall ever tell her – she is already insufferable. Though the real test is to see how she behaves once the mood-altering potion has left her system, not to mention how well she will cope in the long term – I occasionally still have nightmares about my time spent in that dungeon, though they no longer bother me the way they used to.

I walk away from her to skim the titles of the books on my shelf. I extract the one I need and search the index for the antidote to the potion Miss Granger has been force-fed. I could probably make her an antidote without instructions, but I am exhausted and it is better to be safe than sorry and in Azkaban, not that I don't deserve to be there.

"Is this never going to end?" she moans huskily from the other side of the room. "This isn't enough. If you just… can't you…?"

"If you can't say the words, you shouldn't be asking for it," I mutter, my eyes skimming over the writing on the page. Yes, this should work.

"Not long now, Miss Granger," I murmur soothingly, not looking up. Not long now until she's out of my rooms and out of my life and I can collapse into bed and sleep for an eternity.

"For God's sake, stop calling me that," she snaps at me from the sofa. "You've seen me naked – you've watched me…" she trails off and sighs in irritation. "I'm leaving your classes; I'm not going to be your student anymore, you can drop the title."

"We'll see."

Apparently you should never humour or fail to take seriously a drugged and sexually charged Hermione Granger. One second she is sprawled naked on my sofa, her hands on her own bare breasts, and the next she is across the room and I am somehow pressed against the wall by her much smaller, weaker frame. The book lies forgotten and deserted on the floor by our feet.

"What is it that you think you are achieving, _Miss Granger_?"I ask, emphasising her title. Apparently, learning by my mistakes is not my forte. This is not fresh news to me.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" she intones sweetly. "_Mobilicorpus!_"

_How the fuck did she get my wand?_

xxx

**Author's Notes:** I had it pointed out to me that by playing with Draco's birthday, I screwed up quite considerably. To have his birthday after term had started would mean he couldn't be in Harry's year, which would make this story even less book-compliant than it already is. My only explanation (rather than change a large part of my story) is that Lucius could well have pushed for his son to start school early… you never know. All right, it's incredibly lame, but don't make me go back and change it all :oS

The relationship between Lucius and Narcissa is only one (extreme) example of domestic abuse. I am aware that I generalise somewhere in this chapter, and I am also very aware that every situation of abuse is vastly different. Their entirely fictitious situation is excessive, but having been brought up in a house where there have been years of unpredictable violence and verbal abuse, I'm at least speaking from some experience when I say that it is only the victim in the situation that can save themselves. I don't, by any means, mean to get anyone's back up. Don't flame me… :oD

Thank you once again for all of the lovely, encouraging reviews and I'm sorry it took me a while to update.

Thank you to my gorgeous husband for letting me irritate him with Harry Potter related questions while he was desperately trying to concentrate on his game, and thank you also to my Goddess-like beta **Sophi**, who somehow managed to get this 12,000 word chapter back to me in a day.


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